Psychic automatism in its pure state, by which one proposes to express - verbally, by means of the written word, or in any other manner - the actual functioning of thought. Dictated by the thought, in the absence of any control exercised by reason, exempt from any aesthetic or moral concern.

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

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

No rules exist, and examples are simply life-savers answering the appeals of rules making vain attempts to exist.

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

Beauty will be convulsive or will not be at all.

Beauty is like a train that ceaselessly roars out of the Gare de Lyon and which I know will never leave, which has not left. It consists of jolts and shocks, many of which do not have much importance, but which we know are destined to produce one Shock, which does...The human heart, beautiful as a seismograph...Beauty will be CONVULSIVE or will not be at all.