“The blank page gives us the right to dream.”

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 we did not have a feminine being within us, how would we rest ourselves?

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

The cleverer I am at miniaturizing the world, the better I possess it.

A word is a bud attempting to become a twig. How can one not dream while writing? It is the pen which dreams. The blank page gives the right to dream.

The reverie would not last if it were not nourished by the images of the sweetness of living, by the illusions of happiness.

Nobody knows that in reading we are re-living our temptations to be a poet. All readers who have a certain passion for reading, nurture and repress, through reading, the desire to become a writer.

Reverie is not a mind vacuum. It is rather the gift of an hour which knows the plenitude of the soul.

If I were asked to name the chief benefit of the house, I should say: the house shelters day-dreaming, the house protects the dreamer, the house allows one to dream in peace.

At all times and in all fields the explanation by fire is a rich explanation.

When we are children, people show us so many things that we lose the profound sense of seeing… And just how could adults show us the world they have lost! They know; they think they know; they say they know.

So, like a forgotten fire, a childhood can always flare up again within us.

What is the source of our first suffering? It lies in the fact that we hesitated to speak… It was born in the moment when we accumulated silent things within us.

Love is never finished expressing itself, and it expresses itself better the more poetically it is dreamed.

One must always maintain one’s connection to the past and yet ceaselessly pull away from it.

Blank cartridges should never be used against a mob, nor should a volley be fired over the heads of the mob even if there is little danger of hurting persons in the rear. Such things will be regarded as an admission of weakness, or an attempt to bluff, and may do more harm than good.

I try to block out everything that distracts me. Even a big play, I blank it out.

My eyes went blank, and I stared off, and the music started. It was raining, and the sun was shining at the same time.

If they had said that the sun or the moon had gone out of the heavens, it could not have struck me with the idea of a more awful and dreary blank in creation than the words: Byron is dead!

Ignorance is a blank sheet, on which we may write; but error is a scribbled one, on which we must first erase.

I want an infinitely blank book and the rest of time.

It’s so fine and yet so terrible to stand in front of a blank canvas.

A word is a bud attempting to become a twig. How can one not dream while writing? It is the pen which dreams. The blank page gives the right to dream.