True alchemy lies in this formula: ‘Your memory and your senses are but the nourishment of your creative impulse’.
I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still.
O seasons, O castles,
What soul is without flaws?
All its lore is known to me,
Felicity, it enchants us all.
Cela s'est passé. Je sais aujourd'hui saluer la beauté.
In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.