Our Dreams Are A Second Life.

How Have I Been Able To Live So Long Outside Nature Without Identifying Myself With It? Everything Lives, Moves, Everything Corresponds; The Magnetic Rays, Emanating Either From Myself Or From Others, Cross The Limitless Chain Of Created Things Unimpeded; It Is A Transparent Network That Covers The World, And Its Slender Threads Communicate Themselves By Degrees To The Planets And Stars. Captive Now Upon Earth, I Commune With The Chorus Of The Stars Who Share In My Joys And Sorrows.

Our Dreams Are A Second Life.

I Have Never Felt Any Rest In Sleep. For A Few Seconds I Am Numbed, Then A New Life Begins, Freed From The Conditions Of Time And Space, And Doubtless Similar To That State Which Awaits Us After Death. Who Knows If There Is Not Some Link Between Those Two Existences And If It Is Not Possible For The Soul To Unite Them Now?

The First Moments Of Sleep Are An Image Of Death; A Hazy Torpor Grips Our Thoughts And It Becomes Impossible For Us To Determine The Exact Instant When The I, Under Another Form, Continues The Task Of Existence.

Why Should A Lobster Be Any More Ridiculous Than A Dog? ... Or A Cat, Or A Gazelle, Or A Lion, Or Any Other Animal One Chooses To Take For A Walk? I Have A Liking For Lobsters. They Are Peaceful, Serious Creatures. ... Goethe Had An Aversion To Dogs, And He Wasn't Mad. They Know The Secrets Of The Sea, They Don't Bark.