...with the end of my breath, which is the beginning of yours.

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.

Surrealism is based on the belief in the superior reality of certain forms of previously neglected associations, in the omnipotence of dreams, in the disinterested play of thought. It tends to ruin once and for all other psychic mechanisms and to substitute itself for them in solving all the principle problems of life.

At the word witch, we imagine the horrible old crones from Macbeth. But the cruel trials witches suffered teach us the opposite. Many perished precisely because they were young and beautiful.

We all love conflagrations. When the sky changes color, it is a dead man's passing.

...with the end of my breath, which is the beginning of yours.