When will the arbitrary be granted the place it deserves in the formation of works and ideas?

Humor (is) the process that allows one to brush reality aside when it gets too distressing.

Who am I? If this once I were to rely on a proverb, then perhaps everything would amount to knowing whom I 'haunt.'

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

The clouds were disappearing rapidly, leaving the stars to die. The night dried up.

Life’s greatest gift is the freedom it leaves you to step out of it whenever you choose.

Surrealism will usher you into death, which is a secret society. It will glove your hand, burying therein the profound M with which the word Memory begins.