Things are beautiful if you love them.

"I’ll come to you in the morning. I’ll pass through the gates of architectural phantoms, enter your room, brush aside the golden shroud of wasps with my hand, wipe the sweat from your face, Nina, and no one will be able to tear me away from you — no one! And when the sun sets, we’ll lie on the floor like two handfuls of ashes and turn into little useless objects, like blue poppy petals in the celluloid sphere of a watch. Shreds of torn paper, the slanting wind in your face, wasps, a cadenced sound in your ears. When you’ll become transparent to yourself. Not a single affirmation. An effortless walk through non-existence. Just a few more patient strokes, and it would be possible to start talking about the structure and logic of its secret interrelations."