The Reveries Of Two Solitary Souls Prepare

To Feel Most Beautifully Alive Means To Be Reading Something Beautiful.

In Writing, You Discover Interior Sonorities In Words. Dipthongs Sound Differently Beneath The Pen. One Hears Them With Their Sounds Divorced.

Love Is Never Finished Expressing Itself, And It Expresses Itself Better The More Poetically It Is Dreamed.

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.

In Order To Dream So Far, Is It Enough To Read? Isn't It Necessary To Write? Write As In Our Schoolboy Past, In Those Days When, As Bonnoure Says, The Letters Wrote Themselves One By One, Either In Their Gibbosity Or Else In Their Pretentious Elegance? In Those Days, Spelling Was A Drama, Our Drama Of Culture At Work In The Interior Of A Word.