Our Dreams Are A Second Life.

Our Dreams Are A Second Life. I Have Never Been Able To Penetrate Without A Shudder Those Ivory Or Horned Gates Which Separate Us From The Invisible World.

The First Man Who Compared Woman To A Rose Was A Poet; The Second, An Imbecile.

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?

When The Soul Drifts Uncertainly Between Life And The Dream, Between The Mind's Disorder And The Return To Cool Reflection, It Is In Religious Thought That We Should Seek Consolation.

Every Flower Is A Soul Blossoming In Nature.