The poet Paul Éluard says that to understand my film version of Beauty and the Beast, you must love your dog more than your car.

In exiling myself I am not exiling a monster, but a man whom society will not allow to live, since it considers one of the mysterious cogs in God's masterpiece to be a mistake.

Man seeks to escape himself in myth, and does so by any means at his disposal. Drugs, alcohol, or lies. Unable to withdraw into himself, he disguises himself. Lies and inaccuracy give him a few moments of comfort.

Every poem is a coat of arms. It must be deciphered. How much blood, how many tears in exchange for these axes, these muzzles, these unicorns, these torches, these towers, these martlets, these seedlings of stars and these fields of blue!

The spirit of creation is the spirit of contradiction. It is the breakthrough of appearances toward an unknown reality.

One must not mistake majority for truth.

The public only takes up yesterday as a stick to beat today.