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The philosophy of poetry must acknowledge that the poetic act has no past, at least no recent past, in which its preparation and appearance could be f...more

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A special kind of beauty exists which is born in language, of language, and for language.

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Words are little houses, each with its cellar and garret. Common-sense lives on the ground floor, always ready to engage in "foreign commerce" on the ...more

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A word is a bud attempting to become a twig. How can one not dream while writing? It is the pen which dreams. The blank page gives the right to dream.

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Here is Menard's own intimate forest: 'Now I am traversed by bridle paths, under the seal of sun and shade...I live in great density...Shelter lures m...more

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Here the phenomenologist has nothing in common with the literary critic who, as has frequently been noted, judges a work that he could not create and,...more

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We must listen to poets.