We are never real historians, but always near poets, and our emotion is perhaps nothing but an expression of a poetry that was lost.
So, like a forgotten fire, a childhood can always flare up again within us.
It will always be a fact that the woman is the person one idealizes, also the person who wishes his idealization.
Literary imagination is an aesthetic object offered by a writer to a lover of books.
In living off all the reflecting light furnished by poets, the I which dreams the reverie reveals itself not as poet but as poetizing I.
Reverie is commonly classified among the phenomena of psychic detente. It is lived out in a relaxed time which has no linking force. Since it functions with inattention, it is often without memory. It is a flight from out of the real that does not always find a consistent unreal world.
Instead of looking for the dream in reverie, people should look for reverie in the dream. There are calm beaches in the midst of nightmares.
Thanks to his complex convictions, made strong with the forces of animus and anima, the alchemist believes he is seizing the soul of the world, participating in the soul of the world. Thus, from the world to the man, alchemy is a problem of souls.
A pretext-not a cause-is sufficient for us to enter the “solitary situation”, the situation of the dreaming solitude. In this solitude, memories arrange themselves in tableaux. Decor takes precedence over drama. Sad memories take on at least the peace of melancholy.
The night dreamer cannot articulate a cogito. The night dream is a dream without a dreamer.
A book is a human fact; a great book like Seraphita gathers together numerous psychological elements. These elements become coherent through a sort of psychological beauty. It does the reader a service.
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.
It is through the intentionality of poetic imagination that the poet’s soul discovers the opening of consciousness common to all true poetry.
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.
Why should the actions of the imagination not be as real as those of perception?
It is not a question of observation which propels mankind forward as if toward a looking glass of great magnitude; it is an instance of aggrandized reflection that insinuates the human psyche to the inhuman.
The human mind has claimed for water one of its highest values-the value of purity.
In our life as a civilized person in the industrial age, we are invaded by objects; how could an object have a “force” when it no longer has individuality?
Two half philosophers will probably never a whole metaphysician make.
We understand nature by resisting it.