Bornéo 1834

My Dear Friend, In the sky the stars have no names. Children stare at them, looking for a face. I am not attached to answers but find myself more interested in the questions. True creations are unplanned and recipes only contrive it. Perfume is an audacious sleep, an olfactory subversion, and an intoxicating consensus. As I write this letter, Paris is overtaken by a luxury craze. Lyon is not alone anymore: Java, Borneo, Sumatra are smothering Paris under a flow of silk, Serge Lutens.