Whatโs the good of these great fragile fits of enthusiasm, these jaded jumps of joys? We know nothing anymore, but the dead stars; we gaze at their faces; and we gasp with pleasure. Our mouths are dry as the lost beaches, and our eyes turn aimlessly and without hope. Now all that remain are these cafรฉs where we meet to drink these cool drinks, these diluted spirits, and the tables are stickier than the pavements where our shadows of the day before have fallen.
Andre BretonThe pure playfulness of certain wholly whimsical portions of (Charles) Crosโs work should not obscure the fact that at the center of some of his most beautiful poems a revolver is leveled straight at us.
Andre BretonPast and future monopolize the poetโs sensory and intellectual faculties, detached from the immediate spectacle. These two philtres become utterly clear the moment one stops being hypnotized by the cloudy precipitate constituted by the world of today.
Andre BretonNo rules exist, and examples are simply life-savers answering the appeals of rules making vain attempts to exist.
Andre Breton