For me, the single word "God" suggests everything that is slippery, shady, squalid, foul, and grotesque.

The simplest Surrealist act consists of dashing down the street, pistol in hand, and firing blindly, as fast as you can pull the trigger, into the crowd. Anyone who, at least once in his life, has not dreamed of thus putting an end to the petty system of debasement and cretinization in effect has a well-defined place in that crowd with his belly at barrel-level.

Past and future monopolize the poet’s 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.

There are fairy stories to be written for adults. Stories that are still in a green state.

There is nothing with which it is so dangerous to take liberties as liberty itself.

May night continue to fall upon the orchestra

I insist on knowing the names, on being interested only in books left ajar, like doors; I will not go looking for keys.