One must always maintain one's connection to the past and yet ceaselessly pull away from it.— Gaston Bachelard
The most tempting Gaston Bachelard quotes that will activate your desire to change
If I were asked to name the chief benefit of the house, I should say: the house shelters day-dreaming, the house protects the dreamer, the house allows one to dream in peace.
Even a minor event in the life of a child is an event of that child's world and thus a world event.
Reverie is not a mind vacuum. It is rather the gift of an hour which knows the plenitude of the soul.
Every corner in a house, every angle in a room, every inch of secluded space in which we like to hide, or withdraw into ourselves, is a symbol of solitude for the imagination; that is to say, it is the germ of a room, or of a house.
Imagination is a tree. It has the integrative virtues of a tree. It is root and boughs. It lives between earth and sky. It lives in the earth and the wind. The imagined tree imperceptibly becomes a cosmological tree, the tree which epitomises a universe, which makes a universe.
The repose of sleep refreshes only the body.
It rarely sets the soul at rest. The repose of the night does not belong to us. It is not the possession of our being. Sleep opens within us an inn for phantoms. In the morning we must sweep out the shadows.
Our house is our corner of the world.
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.
Rilke wrote: 'These trees are magnificent, but even more magnificent is the sublime and moving space between them, as though with their growth it too increased.
Daydream transports the dreamer outside the immediate world to a world that bears the mark of infinity.
The reverie we intend to study is poetic reverie.
This is a reverie which poetry puts on the right track, the track an expanding consciousness follows. This reverie is written, or, at least, promises to be written. It is already facing the great universe of the blank page. Then images begin to compose and fall into place.
Childhood lasts all through life. It returns to animate broad sections of adult life... Poets will help us to find this living childhood within us, this permanent, durable immobile world.
Poetry is one of the destinies of speech.
.. One would say that the poetic image, in its newness, opens a future to language.
The house protects the dreamer, the house allows one to dream in peace
To disappear into deep water or to disappear toward a far horizon, to become part of depth of infinity, such is the destiny of man that finds its image in the destiny of water.
So, like a forgotten fire, a childhood can always flare up again within us.
To feel most beautifully alive means to be reading something beautiful, ready always to apprehend in the flow of language the sudden flash of poetry.
All knowledge is in response to a question.
If there were no question, there would be no scientific knowledge. Nothing proceeds from itself.
Man is a creation of desire, not a creation of need.
The blank page gives us the right to dream.
The reveries of two solitary souls prepare the sweetness of loving.
Ideas are refined and multiplied in the commerce of minds.
In their splendor, images effect a very simple communion of souls.
Words are clamor-filled shells. There's many a story in the miniature of a single word!
There are reveries so deep, reveries which help us descend so deeply within ourselves that they rid us of our history. They liberate us from our name. These solitudes of today return us to the original solitudes.
A special kind of beauty exists which is born in language, of language, and for language.
The subconscious is ceaselessly murmuring, and it is by listening to these murmurs that one hears the truth.
To live life well is to express life poorly;
if one expresses life too well, one is living it no longer.
The characteristic of scientific progress is our knowing that we did not know.
We believe we can also show that words do not have exactly the same psychic "weight" depending on whether they belong to the language of reverie or to the language of daylight life-to rested language or language under surveillance-to the language of natural poetry or to the language hammered out by authoritarian prosodies.
Actually, however, life begins less by reaching upward, than by turning upon itself. But what a marvelously insidious, subtle image of life a coiling vital principle would be! And how many dreams the leftward oriented shell, or one that did not conform to the rotation of its species, would inspire!
There is no original truth, only original error.
The repose of sleep refreshes only the body. It rarely sets the soul at rest.
The great function of poetry is to give back to us the situations of our dreams.
To feel most beautifully alive means to be reading something beautiful.
Nobody knows that in reading we are re-living our temptations to be a poet.
All readers who have a certain passion for reading, nurture and repress, through reading, the desire to become a writer.
Literary imagination is an aesthetic object offered by a writer to a lover of books.
Instead of looking for the dream in reverie, people should look for reverie in the dream. There are calm beaches in the midst of nightmares.
The spoken reverie of substances calls matter to birth, to life, to spirituality.
Childhood lasts all through life.
Words, in their distant past, have the past of my reveries.
Empirical description involves enslavement to the object by decreeing passivity on the part of the subject.
It is better to live in a state of impermanence than in one of finality.
In our view any awareness is an increment to consciousness, an added light, a reinforcement of psychic coherence. Its swiftness or instantaneity can hide this growth from us. But there is a growth of being in every instance of awareness. Consciousness is in itself an act, the human act.
Perhaps it is even a good idea to stir up a rivalry between conceptual and imaginative activity. In any case, one will encounter nothing but disappointments if he intends to make them cooperate. The image can not provide matter for a concept. By giving stability to the image, the concept would stifle its life.
Thanks to his complex convictions, made strong with the forces of animus and anima, the alchemist believes he is seizing the soul of the world, participating in the soul of the world. Thus, from the world to the man, alchemy is a problem of souls.
The dream remains overloaded with the badly lived passions of daytime life.
Solitude in the nocturnal dream is always a hostility. It is strange. It isn't really our solitude.
Any comparison diminishes the expressive qualities of the terms of the comparison.
Childhood knows unhappiness through men.
In solitude, it can relax its aches. When the human world leaves him in peace, the child feels like the son of the cosmos.
One must always maintain one's connection to the past and yet ceaselessly pull away from it. To remain in touch with the past requires a love of memory. To remain in touch with the past requires a constant imaginative effort.