In My Flowery Dreams There's Always You.

Alas, Everything That Men Say To One Another Is Alike; The Ideas They Exchange Are Almost Always The Same, In Their Conversation. But Inside All Those Isolated Machines, What Hidden Recesses, What Secret Compartments! It Is An Entire World That Each One Carries Within Him, An Unknown World That Is Born And Dies In Silence! What Solitudes All These Human Bodies Are!

Life Is A Sleep, Love Is A Dream; And You Have Lived If You Have Loved.

I See That You Believe In Love Such As The Poets And Romancers Have Represented... The Poets Represent Love As The Sculptors Design Beauty, As The Musicians Create Melody; That Is To Say, Endowed With An Exquisite Nervous Organization, They Gather Up With Discerning Ardor The Purest Elements Of Life, The Most Beautiful Lines Of Matter, And The Most Harmonious Voices Of Nature.... To Try To Find In Real Life Such Love As This, Eternal And Absolute, Is The Same Thing As To Seek On The Public Squares Such A Woman As Venus Or To Expect Nightingales To Sing The Symphonies Of Beethoven.

How Glorious It Is - And Also How Painful - To Be An Exception.

The Blood Of My Motherland Waters A Magic Plant That Cures All Ills. That Plant Is Art, And Sometimes Art Needs Corruption As A Kind Of Fertilizer