“Literary imagination is an aesthetic object offered by a writer to a lover of books.”
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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.
A special kind of beauty exists which is born in language, of language, and for language.
Poetry is one of the destinies of speech... One would say that the poetic image, in its newness, opens a future to language.
There is no original truth, only original error.