The sight of stars always sets me dreaming just as naively as those black dots on a map set me dreaming of towns and villages. Why should these points of light in the firmament, I wonder, be less accessible than the dark ones on the map of France? We take a train to go to Torascon or Roven and we take death to a star.

The sight of stars makes me dream.

The best pictures are always those one dreams of when one is smoking a pipe in bed, but which never get done. But still one ought to try, however incompetent one may feel before the unspeakable perfection and radiant splendour of nature.

You can feel the stars and the infinity of the sky since life, in spite of everything, is like a dream.

For myself, I declare I don't know anything about it. But the sight of the stars always makes me dream.