Nature Is A Burning And Frigid, Transparent

We Must Learn How To Lend Ourselves To Dreaming When Dreams Lend Themselves To Us.

The More I Produce, The Less I Am Certain. On The Road Along Which The Artist Walks, Night Falls Ever More Densely. Finally, He Dies Blind.

Imagination Offers People Consolation For What They Cannot Be, And Humor For What They Actually Are.

What More Ghastly Image Can Be Called Up Than That Of A Man Betrayed By His Body Who, Simply Because He Did Not Die In Time, Lives Out The Comedy While Awaiting The End, Face To Face With That God He Does Not Adore, Serving Him As He Served Life, Kneeling Before A Void And Arms Outstretched Toward A Heaven Without Eloquence That He Knows To Be Also Without Depth?

Idleness Is Fatal Only To The Mediocre.