Our House Is Our Corner Of The

Words, In Their Distant Past, Have The Past Of My Reveries.

A Universe Comes To Contribute To Our Happiness When Reverie Comes To Accentuate Our Repose. You Must Tell The Man Who Wants To Dream Well To Begin By Being Happy. Then Reverie Plays Out Its Veritable Destiny; It Becomes Poetic Reverie And By It, In It, Everything Becomes Beautiful. If The Dreamer Had "the Gift" He Would Turn His Reverie Into A Work. And This Work Would Be Grandiose Since The Dreamed World Is Automatically Grandiose.

It Is Better To Live In A State Of Impermanence Than In One Of Finality.

Irony Gives Us, At Little Expense, The Impression That We Are Experienced Psychologists.

An Excess Of Childhood Is The Germ Of A Poem.