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.

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

The simplest Surrealist act consists of dashing down into the street, pistol in hand, and firing blindly, as fast as you can pull the trigger, into the crowd.

There is By my leaning over the precipice Of your presence and your absence in hopeless fusion My finding the secret Of loving you Always for the first time

Keep reminding yourself that literature is one of the saddest roads that leads to everything.

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

If I place love above everything, it is because for me it is the most desperate, the most despairing state of affairs imaginable.