Just as my fingers on these keys make music, so the self-same sounds on my spirit make a music too.
Conceptions are artificial. Perceptions are essential.
Fromage and coffee and cognac and no gods.
The word is the making of the world
I am one of you and being one of you is being and knowing what I am and know. Yet I am the necessary Angel of earth, since, in my sight, you see the earth again.
Perhaps there is a degree of perception at which what is real and what is imagines are one: a state of clairvoyant observation, accessible or possibly accessible to the poet or, say, the acutest poet.