“The subconscious is ceaselessly murmuring, and it is by listening to these murmurs that one hears its truth.”

The reflected world is the conquest of calm.

Ideas are invented only as correctives to the past. Through repeated rectification of this kind one may hope to disengage an idea that is valid.

When the image is new, the world is new.

The characteristic of scientific progress is our knowing that we did not know.

Our whole childhood remains to be reimagined. In reimagining it, we have the possibility of recovering it in the very life of our reveries as a solitary child.

To verify images kills them, and it is always more enriching to imagine than to experience.

The reveries of two solitary souls prepare the sweetness of loving.

Cosmic reveries separate us from project reveries. They situate us in a world and not in a society. The cosmic reverie possesses a sort of stability or tranquility. It helps us escape time. It is a state.

We comfort ourselves by reliving memories of protection.

The night dreamer cannot articulate a cogito. The night dream is a dream without a dreamer.

One must live to build one’s house, and not build one’s house to live in.

The blank page gives us the right to dream.

To disappear into deep water or to disappear toward a far horizon, to become part of depth of infinity, such is the destiny of man that finds its image in the destiny of water.

Why should the actions of the imagination not be as real as those of perception?

Any comparison diminishes the expressive qualities of the terms of the comparison.

We are never real historians, but always near poets, and our emotion is perhaps nothing but an expression of a poetry that was lost.

If God had wanted us to talk more than listen, he would have given us two mouths rather than two ears.

Don’t be afraid to lose. Listen. And always invest in yourself.

I don’t know what type of music my son will want. By the time he starts listening to music, really, at like 15, 16, I’ll probably have 10 albums out by that time.

Listen for the instruction, instead of begging for the direction.

Sitting alone, listening to the sound of your breath, the beating of your heart is a reminder that you are sacred and blessed.

It is not what you hear, it is where you listen from within yourself that gives meaning to the message.

If a story is not about the hearer, he will not listen. And here I make a rule—a great and interesting story is about everyone or it will not last.

There comes in all our lives a time, when the ears can listen to no music save what the moonlight breathes through the flute of silence.