Reverie is not a mind vacuum. It is rather the gift of an hour which knows the plenitude of the soul.
GASTON BACHELARDA special kind of beauty exists which is born in language, of language, and for language.
More Gaston Bachelard Quotes
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We comfort ourselves by reliving memories of protection.
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A clear conscience is, for me, an occupied conscience-never empty-the conscience of a man at work until his last breath.
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When the image is new, the world is new.
GASTON BACHELARD -
A house that has been experienced is not an inert box. Inhabited space transcends geometrical space.
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The reverie would not last if it were not nourished by the images of the sweetness of living, by the illusions of happiness.
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Why should the actions of the imagination not be as real as those of perception?
GASTON BACHELARD -
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.
GASTON BACHELARD -
One must live to build one’s house, and not build one’s house to live in.
GASTON BACHELARD -
Through imagination, thanks to the subtleties of the irreality function, we re-enter the world of confidence, the world of the confident being, which is the proper world for reverie.
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All the senses awaken and fall into harmony in poetic reverie. Poetic reverie listens to this polyphony of the senses, and the poetic consciousness must record it.
GASTON BACHELARD -
Love is never finished expressing itself, and it expresses itself better the more poetically it is dreamed.
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To live life well is to express life poorly; if one expresses life too well, one is living it no longer.
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So, like a forgotten fire, a childhood can always flare up again within us.
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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.
GASTON BACHELARD -
Every corner in a house, every angle in a room, every inch of secluded space in which we like to hide, or withdraw into ourselves, is a symbol of solitude for the imagination; that is to say, it is the germ of a room, or of a house.
GASTON BACHELARD