There is another world,
but it is in this one.
at the window
I have not always had this certainty, this pessimism which reassures
the best among us. There was a time when my friends laughed at me. I
was not the master of my words. A certain indifference, I have not
always known well what I wanted to say, but most often it was because I
had nothing to say. The neccessity of speaking and the desire not to be
heard. My life hanging only by a thread.
There was a time when I seemed to understand nothing. My chains floated on the water.
All my desires are born of my dreams. And I have proven my love with
words. To what fantastic creatures have I entrusted myself, in what
dolorous and ravishing world has my imagination enclosed me? I am sure
of having been loved in the most mysterious of domains, my own. The
language of my love does not belong to human language, my human body
does not touch the flesh of my love. My amorous imagination has always
been constant and high enough so that nothing could attempt to convince
me of error.
– Paul Eluard