Be a mere assistant to your unconscious. Do only half the work. The rest will do itself.
There are truths which one can only say after having won the right to say them.
He who is affected by an insult is infected by it.
Poets don't draw. They unravel their handwriting and then tie it up again, but differently.
What uniform can I wear to hide my heavy heart? It is too heavy. It will always show.
The actual tragedies of life bear no relation to one's preconceived ideas. In the event, one is always bewildered by their simplicity, their grandeur of design, and by that element of the bizarre which seems inherent in them.
The course of a river is almost always disapproved of by the source.
Commissions suit me. They set limits. Jean Marais dared me to write play in which he would not speak in the first act, would weep for joy in the second and in the last would fall backward down a flight of stairs.
The poet, by composing poems, uses a language that is neither dead nor living, that few people speak, and few people understand We are the servants of an unknown force that lives within us, manipulates us, and dictates this language to us.
I have lost my seven best friends, which is to say God has had mercy on me seven times without realizing it. He lent a friendship, took it from me, sent me another.
People seek escape in myth by any means at their disposal, including drugs, alcohol, meditation, and lies.
The public is never pleased with what we do, wanting always a copy of what we have done.
Poetry, being elegance itself, cannot hope to achieve visibility... It insists on living its own life.
It was the East that should have sent us missionaries.
True realism consists in revealing the surprising things which habit keeps covered and prevents us from seeing.
Childhood knows what it wants - to leave childhood behind.
The artist must know how far to go too far.
The poet is at the disposal of the night. His role is humble, he must clean house and await its due visitation.
Take a commonplace, clean it and polish it, light it so that it produces the same effect of youth and freshness and originality and spontaneity as it did originally, and you have done a poet's job. The rest is literature.
If an addict who has been completely cured starts smoking again he no longer experiences the discomfort of his first addiction. There exists, therefore, outside alkaloids and habit, a sense for opium, an intangible habit which lives on, despite the recasting of the organism. The dead drug leaves a ghost behind. At certain hours it haunts the house.
The world owes its enchantment to these curious creatures and their fancies; but its multiple complicity rejects them. Thistledown spirits, tragic, heartrending in their evanescence, they must go blowing headlong to perdition.
History is a combination of reality and lies. The reality of History becomes a lie. The unreality of the fable becomes the truth.
There are poets and there are grownups.
A car can massage organs which no masseur can reach. It is the one remedy for the disorders of the great sympathetic nervous system.
After the writer's death, reading his journal is like receiving a long letter.
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