I love you on the surface of seas Red like the egg when it is green

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

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

To speak of God, to think of God, is in every respect to show what one is made of. I have always wagered against God and I regard the little that I have won in this world as simply the outcome of this bet. However paltry may have been the stake (my life) I am conscious of having won to the full. Everything that is doddering, squint-eyed, vile, polluted and grotesque is summoned up for me in that one word: God!

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

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

I believe in the pure Surrealist joy of the man who, forewarned that all others before him have failed, refused to admit defeat, sets off from watever point he chooses, along any other pat save a reasonable one, and arrives wherever he can.