Man Is A Creation Of Desire, Not

We Are Never Real Historians, But Always Near Poets, And Our Emotion Is Perhaps Nothing But An Expression Of A Poetry That Was Lost.

The Repose Of Sleep Refreshes Only The Body. It Rarely Sets The Soul At Rest. The Repose Of The Night Does Not Belong To Us. It Is Not The Possession Of Our Being. Sleep Opens Within Us An Inn For Phantoms. In The Morning We Must Sweep Out The Shadows.

The Repose Of Sleep Refreshes Only The Body. It Rarely Sets The Soul At Rest.

The Great Function Of Poetry Is To Give Back To Us The Situations Of Our Dreams.

Daydream Transports The Dreamer Outside The Immediate World To A World That Bears The Mark Of Infinity.