"The dawn lover I have long been accustomed to getting up a little before dawn to surprise, in the next moment, what he will happen at night. She is there, against my face, she has taken everything, she seems impenetrable, but behind it, I guess, gathered, all the light that trembles like a flood before falling. First the night resists this pressure of the great waters dazzling; but, porous, and in its depths, it leaves finally ooze gently some milky clarity which extends, stain of phosphorus, and begins to generate space. I have long wished for a sudden breakup, a total invasion of light. That this grace was refused to me, that the force that we attribute to the imagination has not until now been able to force the world, now I consider this failure to be a form of happiness. The night slowly soaks in and changes, decomposes, leaves appear, as if by chance, the transparency of an atmosphere, a movement of a forest or a cloud, the lightning of a pond or a river, the camel curves of the earth, sometimes a bony fragment of city, - but yet nothing human but myself. If the night turns into broad day, it is never same way. What undoubtedly accounts for the miracle?"-Paul Nouge