When The Image Is New, The World

All Knowledge Is In Response To A Question. If There Were No Question, There Would Be No Scientific Knowledge. Nothing Proceeds From Itself.

It Is A Poor Reverie Which Invites A Nap. One Must Even Wonder Whether, In This "failing Asleep", The Subconscious Itself Does Not Undergo A Decline In Being.

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.

In Scientific Thought, The Concept Functions All The Better For Being Cut Off From All Background Images. In Its Full Exercise, The Scientific Concept Is Free From All The Delays Of Its Genetic Evolution, An Evolution Which Is Consequently Explained By Simple Psychology. The Virility Of Knowledge Increases With Each Conquest Of The Constructive Abstraction.

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.