What has been forgotten is never something purely individual. Everything forgotten mingles with what has been forgotten of the prehistoric world, forms countless, uncertain, changing compounds, yielding a constant flow of new, strange products.

As long as there is still one beggar around, there will still be myth.

Boredom is the dream bird that hatches the egg of experience. A rustling in the leaves drives him away.

Painting, by its nature, cannot provide an object of simultaneous collective reception... as film is able to do today... And while efforts have been made to present paintings to the masses in galleries and salons, this mode of reception gives the masses no means of organizing and regulating their response. Thus, the same public which reacts progressively to a slapstick comedy inevitably displays a backward attitude toward Surrealism.

Any translation which intends to perform a transmitting function cannot transmit anything but information-hence, something inessential. This is the hallmark of bad translations.

Any order is a balancing act of extreme precariousness.

The illiterate of the future will not be the man who cannot read the alphabet, but the one who cannot take a photograph.