Sueño que estoy en París. De pronto descubro con agrado, con la nostalgia del que está lejos de su tierra, que ando por casas y plazas de Buenos Aires. “¿No te has enterado?”, me preguntan. “Hasta el lunes Buenos Aires está en París.”

One night […] I dreamed that I had a rather pleasant sensation in my right leg. The sensation increased in intensity, and I began to wake up. It grew even more intense. I woke up more fully and discovered that it had been a severe pain all the time.The sensation itself told me that it had been a sensation of immense pain, which I had mistaken for a sensation of pleasure.

Roger, I had a very disturbing dream last night. In this dream I found myself making love to a strange man. Only I’m having trouble you see, because he’s old … and dying … and he smells bad, and I find him repulsive. But then he tells me that everything is erotic, that everything is sexual. You know what I mean? He tells me that even old flesh is erotic flesh. That disease is the love of two alien kinds of creatures for each other. That even dying is an act of eroticism. That talking is sexual. That breathing is sexual. That even to physically exist is sexual. And I believe him, and we make love beautifully.

[B]asta la igual vivacidad de las imágenes y emociones del ensueño frente a las de la realidad para que nuestra vida pudiera, sin ceder en importancia y seriedad, ser toda hecha de ensueño.

If a man could pass thro’ Paradise in a Dream, & have a flower presented to him as a pledge that his Soul had really been there, & found that flower in his hand when he awoke – Aye! and what then?