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 was in the black mirror of anarchism that surrealism first recognised itself.

Love is when you meet someone who tells you something new about yourself.

It is living and ceasing to live that are imaginary solutions. Existence is elsewhere.

What one hides is worth neither more nor less than what one finds. And what one hides from oneself is worth neither more nor less than what one allows others to find.

Words have finished flirting. Now they are making love.

Let us not mince words: the marvelous is always beautiful, anything marvelous is beautiful, in fact only the marvelous is beautiful.