I was the world in which I walked.
Reality is a cliché from which we escape by metaphor.
Realism is a corruption of reality.
It is the sea that whitens the roof. The sea drifts through the winter air. It is the sea that the north wind makes. The sea is in the falling snow.
It has to be living, to learn the speech of the place, It has to face the man of the time.
Anything is beautiful if you say it is.