Only traces make us dream.

Companions in the Garden:

    Man is but a blossom of the air held by the earth, cursed by the
stars, inhaled by death; the breath and shadow of this coalition
at certain times elevate him. 

    Our friendship is the white cloud preferred by the sun. 

    Our friendship is a free rind. It does not detach itself from our
heart's prowesses. 

    Where my spirit no longer uproots but replants and cares for,
I begin to grow. Where the people's childhood begins, I love. 

    In the twentieth century man was at his lowest. Women be-
came enlightened and moved about swiftly, on a ledge where
only our eyes had access. 

    To a rose I bind myself. 

    We are ungovernable. The only master favorable to us is
Lightning who sometimes illuminates us and sometimes cleaves
us. 

    Lightning and rose in us, in their transience, are added for our
completion. 

René Char.