Posts Tagged ‘surrealism’

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May 2, 2017

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Luis Buñuel

October 25, 2011

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Somewhere between chance
and mystery lies the grave
seduction of smoke

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Truth doesn’t matter . . .
A daily cocktail of truth
cannot change the world

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What is lovelier
than life without memory?
Amnesia is God!

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A paranoiac
imagination is the
freedom of poets

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Why can’t the Devil
in all His luminousness
make me his consort?

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When you’re naked, age
matters; when you’re in the grave,
age doesn’t matter

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Fortunately, an
exquisite sense of horror
protects me from life

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Oppression of love:
essential spurt of reason,
then bitter regret

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For a writer, the
margin of conformity
tastes of word torture

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André Breton

August 18, 2011

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Leave your memory.
Leave your future. But never
leave your Dada road.

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Love is when you meet
someone who tells you love is
imaginary

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To see art, to hear
art means nothing . . . To write art
is worth even less

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Convulsive desire
produces contradictions
hidden in doomed words

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In the world we live
in children will never have
to happen again

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The exaltation
of beauty is a fleeting
moment of dream death

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Dalí’s the plaything
of incommunicable
despairing freedom

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Between virtue and
vice is the shadow of a
fear I cannot name

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The past hesitates
like an affair of the heart
itself forgotten

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My wife has ceased to
be a waking event . . . She
renounces substance

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Max Ernst

June 1, 2011

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Birth is the conquest
of Christian humility . . .
A nudity bomb

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Expressionism is
the decorative coupling
of eye and psyche

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The ugliness of
pride is the ugliness of
felt reality

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The irrational
has got nothing to do with
the irrational

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Collage is simply
irreconcilable with
juxtaposition

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The spark of a good
idea is lost for all
time in its finding

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The common thrust of
taste does not suit a woman’s
virtue or beauty

***************

Leonora Carrington

May 26, 2011

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Reason is a form
of death—a fading away
like rhododendrons

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The right eye is for
painting; the left eye is to
admire the painting

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Dawn was my muse till
she dissolved in the silent
light of forever

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I haven’t got time
for people—I must shovel
coal and chop huge stones

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The task of God is
to plunge your head into a
crematorium

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The novelist peers
into a microscope of
transfixed air—and breathes

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It is the duty
of the artist to simply
derange everything

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