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

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

To see, to hear, means nothing. To recognize (or not to recognize) means everything. Between what I do recognize and what I do not recognize there stands myself. And what I do not recognize I shall continue not to recognize.

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

I myself shall continue living in my glass house where you can always see who comes to call, where everything hanging from the the ceiling and on the walls stays where it is as if by magic, where I sleep nights in a glass bed, under glass sheets, where who I am will sooner or later appear etched by a diamond.

In the world we live in everything militates in favor of things that have not yet happened, of things that will never happen again.

A work of art has value only if tremors of the future run through it.