It Is Not A Question Of Observation

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.

The Poetic Image […] Is Not An Echo Of The Past. On The Contrary: Through The Brilliance Of Any Image, The Distant Past Resounds With Echoes.

A Pretext-not A Cause-is Sufficient For Us To Enter The "solitary Situation", The Situation Of The Dreaming Solitude. In This Solitude, Memories Arrange Themselves In Tableaux. Decor Takes Precedence Over Drama. Sad Memories Take On At Least The Peace Of Melancholy.

Actually, However, Life Begins Less By Reaching Upward, Than By Turning Upon Itself. But What A Marvelously Insidious, Subtle Image Of Life A Coiling Vital Principle Would Be! And How Many Dreams The Leftward Oriented Shell, Or One That Did Not Conform To The Rotation Of Its Species, Would Inspire!

The Image Can Only Be Studied Through The Image, By Dreaming Images As They Gather In Reverie. It Is A Non-sense To Claim To Study Imagination Objectively Since One Really Receives The Image Only If He Admires It. Already In Comparing One Image To Another, One Runs The Risk Of Losing Participation In Its Individuality.