A Clear Conscience Is, For Me, An

One Doesn't Read Poetry While Thinking Of Other Things.

One Must Live To Build One's House, And Not Build One's House To Live In.

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.

Our Whole Childhood Remains To Be Reimagined. In Reimagining It, We Have The Possibility Of Recovering It In The Very Life Of Our Reveries As A Solitary Child.

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