Poetry is a religion with no hope.

A picture is not a window...an abstract refers to no reality but its own.

French people are Italian people in a bad mood.

An artist cannot speak about his art any more than a plant can discuss horticulture.

Be a mere assistant to your unconscious. Do only half the work. The rest will do itself.

Catastrophe, riots, factories blowing up, armies in flight, flood - the ear can detect a whole apocalypse in the starry night of the human body.

When we awake it is the animal, the plant, that thinks in us. Primitive thought without the least disguise. We see a terrible universe, because we see clearly. A little later, intelligence introduces its impeding contrivances. It brings the little toys which man invents in order to hide the void. It is then that we think we are seeing clearly. We attribute our uneasiness to the miasmas of the brain as it passes from dream to reality.