[b]Paul Valéry
How can one not feel enthusiasm for the man who never said anything vague?[/b]
Is this even possible? And, if so, is it even wise?
Modern man no longer works at what cannot be abbreviated.
After all, time is money.
For the fact is that disorder is the condition of the mind’s fertility: it contains the mind’s promise, since its fertility depends on the unexpected rather than the expected, depends on what we do not know, and because we do not know it, than what we know.
Not counting the parts that pulverize you.
I have made a similar suggestion for poetry: that one should approach it as pure sonority, reading and rereading it as a sort of music, and should not introduce meanings or intentions into the diction before clearly grasping the system of sounds that every poem must offer on pain of nonexistence.
I think I understand this. Would you like to confirm it?
I think of the presence and of the habits of mortals in this so fluid stream, and reflect that I was among them, striving to see all things just as I see them at this very moment. I then placed Wisdom in the eternal station which now is ours. But from here all is unrecognizable. Truth is before us, and we no longer understand anything at all.
I think I understand this. Would you like to confirm it?
There is no theory that is not a fragment, carefully prepared, of some autobiography.
Haven’t I been saying this now for years?