I detest my past, and anyone else's. I detest resignation, patience, professional heroism and obligatory beautiful feelings. I also detest the decorative arts, folklore, advertising, voices making announcements, aerodynamism, boy scouts, the smell of moth balls, events of the moment, and drunken people.

Only thought can resemble. It resembles by being what it sees, hears, or knows; it becomes what the world offers it.

Everything we see hides another thing, we always want to see what is hidden by what we see, but it is impossible. Humans hide their secrets too well.

The feeling we experience while we look at a picture is not to be distinguished from the picture or from ourselves. the feeling, picture, and ourselves are united in one mystery.

The purpose of art is mystery.

To be a surrealist means barring from your mind all remembrance of what you have seen, and being always on the lookout for what has never been.

Art evokes the mystery without which the world would not exist.