How Else Learn The Real,

This Labour Of The Artist To Discover A Means Of Apprehending Beneath Matter And Experience, Beneath Words, Something Different From Their Appearance, Is Of An Exactly Contrary Nature To The Operation In Which Pride, Passion, Intelligence And Habit Are Constantly Engaged Within Us When We Spend Our Lives Without Self-communion, Accumulating As Though To Hide Our True Impressions, The Terminology For Practical Ends Which We Falsely Call Life.

We Can Only Be Faithful To What We Remember, And We Remember Only What We Have Known.

We Live Not Alone But Chained To A Creature Of A Different Kingdom: Our Body.

Perfume Is That Last And Best Reserve Of The Past, The One Which When All Out Tears Have Run Dry, Can Make Us Cry Again!

We See Things But We Don't See Them, Like Things That Slid Through The Mind, One Flowing Into Another.