Cosmic Reveries Separate Us From Project Reveries.

The Only Possible Proof Of The Existence Of Water, The Most Convincing And The Most Intimately True Proof, Is Thirst.

The Philosophy Of Poetry Must Acknowledge That The Poetic Act Has No Past, At Least No Recent Past, In Which Its Preparation And Appearance Could Be Followed.

Here Is Menard's Own Intimate Forest: 'now I Am Traversed By Bridle Paths, Under The Seal Of Sun And Shade...i Live In Great Density...shelter Lures Me. I Slump Down Into The Thick Foliage...in The Forest, I Am My Entire Self. Everything Is Possible In My Heart Just As It Is In The Hiding Places In Ravines. Thickly Wooded Distance Separates Me From Moral Codes And Cities.

Very Often, I Confess, The Teller Of Dreams Bores Me. His Dream Could Perhaps Interest Me If It Were Frankly Worked On. But To Hear A Glorious Tale Of His Insanity! I Have Not Yet Clarified, Psychoanalytically, This Boredom During The Recital Of Other People's Dreams. Perhaps I Have Retained The Stiffness Of A Rationalist. I Do Not Follow The Tale Of Justified Incoherence Docilely. I Always Suspect That Part Of The Stupidities Being Recounted Are Invented.

We Understand Nature By Resisting It.