We Must Listen To Poets.

We Comfort Ourselves By Reliving Memories Of Protection. Something Closed Must Retain Our Memories, While Leaving Them Their Original Value As Images. Memories Of The Outside World Will Never Have The Same Tonality As Those Of Home And, By Recalling These Memories, We Add To Our Store Of Dreams; We Are Never Real Historians, But Always Near Poets, And Our Emotion Is Perhaps Nothing But An Expression Of A Poetry That Was Lost.

By Listening To Certain Words As A Child Listens To The Sea In A Seashell, A Word Dreamer Hears The Murmur Of A World Of Dreams.

The Blank Page Gives Us The Right To Dream.

The Only Possible Proof Of The Existence Of Water, The Most Convincing And The Most Intimately True Proof, Is Thirst.

Of Course, Any Simplification Runs The Risk Of Mutilating Reality; But It Helps Us Establish Perspectives.