Life is like a play. Paris, the capital of flowers, is a dazzling and bewildering theater where scenes from Molière’s French comedies unfold everywhere. Open your eyes and mind, and the theater of life’s ups and downs plays on without pause, even in dreams. Dreamer and dreamt, observer and observed, simultaneously exchange roles. Who is the audience? Who is the actor? Unusually, the two merge: dreamer and scene, stage and stalls; it seems I am you, you are me. The social theater exists between us all; everything appears as both whole and individual. What difference remains between heaven and earth? Everything seems to arise and vanish within a single thought.