here it is hard to tell if it is for entering or leaving that the door of the circus of mists opens so often. the immense tent is marvelously patched by daylight. so it is easy to establish a perfect continuity between what is opened and what is veiled. it is no different in the kind of love where desire carried to the extreme appears to bloom just in order to sweep its lighthouse beam over the always new clearings of life. no depression follows upon joy. the room filled with swandown which we were just now crossing, and which we will cross again, communicates effortlessly with nature. speckling with blue and gold the reefs of honey devoid of any living being, i see a thousand eyes of children watching the summit that we will not be able to reach. it must be about time to set up the trapeze.
-from 'mad love' -andre breton.