An original artist is unable to copy. So he has only to copy in order to be original.

Be yourself. The world worships the original.

Art is not a pastime but a priesthood.

Les expériences dangereuses, le monde les accepte dans le domaine de l’art parce qu’il ne prend pas l’art au sérieux, mais il les condamne dans la vie.

Mirrors should think longer before they reflect.

One of the characteristics of the dream is that nothing surprises us in it. With no regret, we agree to live in it with strangers, completely cut off from our habits and friends.

Emotion resulting from a work of art is only of value when it is not obtained by sentimental blackmail.

The day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying.

All spiritual journeys are martyrdoms

Ma véritable vie est néeAprès que j’ai connu JeannotMaintenant nous mélangeons nosChaussures dans la cheminée✫C’est pour toi que je fais des livresPour toi des pièces et des versJe les voudrais pareils au givreQue la vitre...

Here I am trying to live, or rather, I am trying to teach the death within me how to live.

I suppose the artists invented the firm breasts they put on women, and that in reality all women had flabby ones.

The smell of opium is the least stupid smell in the world.

A child’s reaction to this type of calamity is twofold and extreme. Not knowing how deeply, powerfully, life drops anchor into its vast sources of recuperation, he is bound to envisage, at once, the very...

You’ve never seen death? Look in the mirror every day and you will see it like bees working in a glass hive.

„Wer mein Haus betreten will, der trete ein. Wem es hier gefällt, der bleibe. Ich weigere mich, etwas zu planen. Und wenn man mich fragt, was ich aus meinem Haus mitnehmen würde, wenn es brennt,...

When I write, I disturb. When I show a film, I disturb. When I exhibit my painting, I disturb, and I disturb if I don’t. I have a knack for disturbing.

plantitIt will sproutBut forget about the rustic festivitiesFor the explosive word falls harmlessly eternal throughthe compact generations

The poet doesn’t invent. He listens.

Jeannot la bêtise des amoureux est immense, végétale, animale, astrale. Que faire? Comment te faire comprendre que je n’existe plus en dehors de toi.

Every poem is a coat of arms. It must be deciphered. How much blood, how many tears in exchange for these axes, these muzzles, these unicorns, these torches, these towers, these martlets, these seedlings of...

At all costs the true world of childhood must prevail, must be restored; that world whose momentous, heroic, mysterious quality is fed on airy nothings, whose substance is so ill-fitted to withstand the brutal touch...

Art is science made clear.

To be moved confuses the soul. One cannot convey these kinds of memories any more than the events of a dream……if I have complained too long, it is because my memory, no longer having any...

Art is a marriage of the conscious and the unconscious.

I love cats because I enjoy my home; and little by little, they become its visible soul.