Lovers of painting and lovers of music are people who openly display t >>
A writer never reads his work. For him, it is the unreadable, a secret >>
There is between sleep and us something like a pact, a treaty with no >>
Come, cuddle your head on my shoulder, dear, your head like the golden >>
All men whilst they are awake are in one common world: but each of the >>
He who sleeps half a day has won half a life. >>
There is between sleep and us something like a pact, a treaty with no secret clauses, and according to this convention it is agreed that, far from being a dangerous, bewitching force, sleep will become domesticated and serve as an instrument of our power to act. We surrender to sleep, but in the way that the master entrusts himself to the slave who serves him.