It is easy to suppose that few people realize on that occasion, which comes to all of us, when we look at the blue sky for the first time, that is to say: not merely see it, but look at it and experience it and for the first time have a sense that we live in the center of a physical poetry, a geography that would be intolerable except for the non-geography that exists there - few people realize that they are looking at the world of their own thoughts and the world of their own feelings.

Success as a result of industry is a peasant's ideal.

Next to love is the desire for love.

The mind is smaller than the eye.

After the leaves have fallen, we return To a plain sense of things. It is as if We had come to an end of the imagination, Inanimate in an inert savoir.

It must be this rhapsody or none, The rhapsody of things as they are.

Style is not something applied. It is something that permeates.