How I loathe the servitude people try to hold up to me as being so valuable. I pity the man who is condemned to it, who cannot generally escape it, but it is not the burden of his labor that disposes me in his favor, it is - it can only be - the vigor of his protest against it.

Nothing that surrounds us is object, all is subject.

What is admirable about the fantastic is that there is no longer anything fantastic: there is only the real.

The simplest Surrealist act consists of dashing down into the street, pistol in hand, and firing blindly, as fast as you can pull the trigger, into the crowd.

It is impossible for me to envisage a picture as being other than a window, and why my first concern is then to know what it looks out on.

Nothing retains less of desire in art, in science, than this will to industry, booty, possession.

To see, to hear, means nothing. To recognize (or not to recognize) means everything.