After The Writer's Death, Reading His Journal

The Extreme Limit Of Wisdom, That's What The Public Calls Madness.

One Of The Characteristics Of The Dream Is That Nothing Surprises Us In It. With No Regret, We Agree To Live In It With Strangers, Completely Cut Off From Our Habits And Friends.

Commissions Suit Me. They Set Limits. Jean Marais Dared Me To Write Play In Which He Would Not Speak In The First Act, Would Weep For Joy In The Second And In The Last Would Fall Backward Down A Flight Of Stairs.

I Am Happy To Exhibit, But Not To Put Myself On Exhibition.

I Have Lost My Seven Best Friends, Which Is To Say God Has Had Mercy On Me Seven Times Without Realizing It. He Lent A Friendship, Took It From Me, Sent Me Another.