All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name.

The important thing is that man is lost in time, in the moment that immediately precedes him - which only attests, by reflection, to the fact that he is lost in the moment that follows

No one who has lived even for a fleeting moment for something other than life in its conventional sense and has experienced the exaltation that this feeling produces can then renounce his new freedom so easily.

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

The simplest act of surrealism is to walk out into the street, gun in hand, and shoot at random.

Perhaps I am doomed to retrace my steps under the illusion that I am exploring, doomed to try and learn what I should simply recognize, learning a mere fraction of what I have forgotten.

The purest surrealist act is walking into a crowd with a loaded gun and firing into it randomly