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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.

-Jean Cocteau

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When We Awake It

Jean Cocteau

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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.

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If An Addict Who Has Been Completely Cured Starts Smoking Again He No Longer Experiences The Discomfort Of His First Addiction. There Exists, Therefore, Outside Alkaloids And Habit, A Sense For Opium, An Intangible Habit Which Lives On, Despite The Recasting Of The Organism. The Dead Drug Leaves A Ghost Behind. At Certain Hours It Haunts The House.

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When I Write, I Disturb. When I Show A Film, I Disturb. When I Exhibit My Painting, I Disturb, And I Disturb If I Don't. I Have A Knack For Disturbing.

The Louvre Is A Morgue; You Go There To Identify Your Friends.

All Spiritual Journeys Are Martyrdoms

Poetry Is A Religion With No Hope.

One Sits Down First; One Thinks Afterwards.

There Are Poets And There Are Grownups.

The World Owes Its Enchantment To These Curious Creatures And Their Fancies; But Its Multiple Complicity Rejects Them. Thistledown Spirits, Tragic, Heartrending In Their Evanescence, They Must Go Blowing Headlong To Perdition.

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I'm Not Willing Just To Be Tolerated. That Wounds My Love Of Love And Of Liberty.

Not Only Should You Not Accept A Prize. You Should Not Try To Deserve One Either.

I Know That Poetry Is Indispensable, But To What I Could Not Say.

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There Are Truths Which One Can Only Say After Having Won The Right To Say Them.

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Do Not Fear Being Ridiculous In Relation To The Ridiculous.

Take A Commonplace, Clean It And Polish It, Light It So That It Produces The Same Effect Of Youth And Freshness And Originality And Spontaneity As It Did Originally, And You Have Done A Poet's Job. The Rest Is Literature.

Appreciation Of Art Is A Moral Erection, Otherwise Mere Dilettantism.

Be A Constant Outrage To Modesty There Is Nothing To Fear: Modesty Is Exercised Only Among The Blind.

Emotion Resulting From A Work Of Art Is Only Of Value When It Is Not Obtained By Sentimental Blackmail.

It Seems To Me That Invisibility Is The Required Provision Of Elegance. Elegance Ceases To Exist When It Is Noticed.

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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.

If A Hermit Lives In A State Of Ecstasy, His Lack Of Comfort Becomes The Height Of Comfort. He Must Relinquish It.

We Only Serve As A Model For The Portrait Of Our Fame.

What Uniform Can I Wear To Hide My Heavy Heart? It Is Too Heavy. It Will Always Show.

Good Music Resembles Something. It Resembles The Composer.

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The Poet Is A Liar Who Always Speaks The Truth.

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I Am Happy To Exhibit, But Not To Put Myself On Exhibition.

Childhood Knows What It Wants - To Leave Childhood Behind.

Look Out! Be On Your Guard, Because Alone Of All The Arts, Music Moves All Around You.

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The Only Way To Kill Death Is Through Photography.

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The Reward Of Art Is Not Fame Or Success But Intoxication: That Is Why So Many Bad Artists Are Unable To Give It Up.

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The Joy Of The Young Is To Disobey

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One Must Be A Living Man And A Posthumous Artist.

Since These Mysteries Exceed My Grasp, I Shall Pretend To Have Organized Them.

Silence Moves Faster When It's Going Backward.

Mystery Has Its Own Mysteries, And There Are Gods Above Gods. We Have Ours, They Have Theirs. That Is What's Known As Infinity.

One Of The Characteristics Of The Dream Is That Nothing Surprises Us In It. With No Regret, We Agree To Live In It With Strangers, Completely Cut Off From Our Habits And Friends.

Perhaps I Know To What Extent I Can Go Too Far.

Art Is Not A Pastime But A Priesthood.

Everyone's Pet Is The Most Outstanding. This Begets Mutual Blindness.

The Greatest Masterpiece In Literature Is Only A Dictionary Out Of Order.

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Lying Is The Only Art Form That The Public Sanctions And Instinctively Prefers To Reality.

Statues To Great Men Are Made Of The Stones Thrown At Them In Their Lifetime.

A Little Too Much Is Just Enough For Me.

We Shelter An Angel Within Us. We Must Be The Guardians Of That Angel.

A Prig Always Finds A Last Refuge In Responsibility.

The Poet Never Asks For Admiration; He Wants To Be Believed.

What Uniform Can I Wear To Hide My Heavy Heart? It Is Too Heavy. It Will Always Show. Jacques Felt Himself Growing Gloomy Again. He Was Well Aware That To Live On Earth A Man Must Follow Its Fashions, And Hearts Were No Longer Worn.

Compromise Yourself. Obscure Your Own Trail.

The Instinct Of Nearly All Societies Is To Lock Up Anybody Who Is Truly Free. First, Society Begins By Trying To Beat You Up. If This Fails, They Try To Poison You. If This Fails Too, The Finish By Loading Honors On Your Head.

The Smell Of Opium Is The Least Stupid Smell In The World.

French People Are Italian People In A Bad Mood.

The Eyes Of The Dead Are Closed Gently; We Also Have To Open Gently The Eyes Of The Living.

Here I Am Trying To Live, Or Rather, I Am Trying To Teach The Death Within Me How To Live.

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Without Resistance You Can Do Nothing

Stupidity Is Always Astounding, No Matter How Often One Encounters It.

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Alas! I Do Not Believe That Inspiration Falls From Heaven. Think It Rather The Result Of A Profound Indolence.

The Skin Of All Of Us Is Responsive To Gypsy Songs And Military Marches.

My Method Is Simple: Not To Bother About Poetry. It Must Come Of Its Own Accord. Merely Whispering Its Name Drives It Away.

And Now I Have To Confess The Unpardonable And The Scandalous. I Am A Happy Man. And I Am Going To Tell You The Secret Of My Happiness. It Is Quite Simple. I Love Mankind. I Love Love. I Hate Hate. I Try To Understand And Accept.

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It Is Not I Who Become Addicted, It Is My Body.

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I Have A Piece Of Great And Sad News To Tell You: I Am Dead.

An Original Artist Is Unable To Copy. So He Has Only To Copy In Order To Be Original.

Art Is Science In The Flesh.

The Ear Disapproves But Tolerates Certain Musical Pieces; Transfer Them Into The Domain Of Our Nose, And We Will Be Forced To Flee.

Lack Of Manners Is The Sign Of A Hero.

Every Day In The Mirror I Watch Death At Work.

Celebrity: I Picture Myself As A Marble Bust With Legs To Run Everywhere.

People Seek Escape In Myth By Any Means At Their Disposal, Including Drugs, Alcohol, Meditation, And Lies.

Art Produces Ugly Things Which Frequently Become Beautiful With Time.

If It Has To Choose Who Is To Be Crucified, The Crowd Will Always Save Barabbas.

Crucifixion Of Christ

Poetry Is A Religion Without Hope, But Its Martyrs Guarantee The Eternal Truth Of Its Dogma.

Mirrors Should Think Longer Before They Reflect.

The Prettiest Dresses Are Worn To Be Taken Off.

I Want The Kind Of Readers Who Remain Children At Any Cost. I Can Tell Them At A Glance: Loyalty To That First Enchantment Guards Better Than Any Cosmetic; Than Any Diet, Against The Insults Of Age. But Alas For Such Readers, Who Would Huddle Safe And Sound In The Asylum Of Their Credulous Enchantment As If In The Womb-our Enervating Century Offends Them By Its Chaos, Its Fidgets Of Light And Space, The Host Of Its Excuses For Dividing , For Rending Oneself From Others And From Oneself.

Film Will Only Became An Art When Its Materials Are As Inexpensive As Pencil And Paper.

There Are Too Many Souls Of Wood Not To Love Those Wooden Characters Who Do Indeed Have A Soul.

I've Always Preferred Mythology To History. History Is Truth That Becomes An Illusion. Mythology Is An Illusion That Becomes Reality.

It Is Difficult To Live Without Opium After Having Known It Because It Is Difficult, After Knowing Opium, To Take Earth Seriously. And Unless One Is A Saint, It Is Difficult To Live Without Taking Earth Seriously.

The Ultimate Politeness In Art Consists Of Speaking Only To Those Who Are Able To Uncover And Measure Its Relationships. Anything Else Is Symbolic, And Symbolism Is Merely Transcendental Imagery.

Such Is The Role Of Poetry. It Unveils, In The Strict Sense Of The Word. It Lays Bare, Under A Light Which Shakes Off Torpor, The Surprising Things Which Surround Us And Which Our Senses Record Mechanically.

It Is Not Inspiration; It Is Expiration.

Beauty Makes One Lose One's Head. Poetry Is Born Of This Decapitation

All Good Music Resembles Something. Good Music Stirs By Its Mysterious Resemblance To The Objects And Feelings Which Motivated It.

The Composer Opens The Cage Door For Arithmetic, The Draftsman Gives Geometry Its Freedom.

One Should Always Talk Well About Oneself! The Word Spreads Around And In The End, Noone Remembers Where It Started

Whatever The Public Blames You For, Cultivate It; It Is Yourself.

The Actual Tragedies Of Life Bear No Relation To One's Preconceived Ideas. In The Event, One Is Always Bewildered By Their Simplicity, Their Grandeur Of Design, And By That Element Of The Bizarre Which Seems Inherent In Them.

Tact In Audacity Is Knowing How Far You Can Go Without Going Too Far.

Mirrors Should Reflect A Little Before Throwing Back Images.

The Audience Bursts Into Laughter. With The Tragic Gag I Don't Expect The Audience To Laugh (if They Do, I Have Failed) But I Expect A Black Silence From Them That Is Almost As Violent: As Laughter.

A Car Can Massage Organs Which No Masseur Can Reach. It Is The One Remedy For The Disorders Of The Great Sympathetic Nervous System.

The Artist Must Know How Far To Go Too Far.

The Worst Tragedy For A Poet Is To Be Admired Through Being Misunderstood.

Continue Reading Proust. His Magnificent Intelligence Is Particularly Fond Of Describing Stupidity. Which Is Ultimately Exhausting.

One Is Either Judge Or Accused. The Judge Sits, The Accused Stands. Live On Your Feet.

Youth Is Certain What It Rejects Before It Knows What It Will Accept.

Everything One Does In Life, Even Love, Occurs In An Express Train Racing Toward Death. To Smoke Opium Is To Get Out Of The Train While It Is Still Moving. It Is To Concern Oneself With Something Other Than Life Or Death.

Since It's Now Fashionable To Laugh At The Conservative French Academy, I Have Remained A Rebel By Joining It.

A Film Is A Petrified Fountain Of Thought.

The Poet Is At The Disposal Of The Night. His Role Is Humble, He Must Clean House And Await Its Due Visitation.

Art Produces Ugly Things Which Frequently Become More Beautiful With Time. Fashion, On The Other Hand, Produces Beautiful Things Which Always Become Ugly With Time.

What Is Style? For Many People, A Very Complicated Way Of Saying Very Simple Things. According To Us, A Very Simple Way Of Saying Very Complicated Things.

You've Never Seen Death? Look In The Mirror Every Day And You Will See It Like Bees Working In A Glass Hive.

It Was The East That Should Have Sent Us Missionaries.

Cultivate Everything The Critics Hated In Your First Work - That's What Makes You Unique.

Listen Carefully To First Criticisms Made Of Your Work. Note Just What It Is About Your Work That Critics Don't Like - Then Cultivate It. That's The Only Part Of Your Work That's Individual And Worth Keeping.

Art Is A Marriage Of The Conscious And The Unconscious.

Vivre Est Une Chute Horizontale. Life Is A Horizontal Fall.

Art Is Science Made Flesh.

I Succeeded In Bewitching A Fair Number And In Being Intoxicated With My Mistakes.

He Has The Manner Of A Giant With The Look Of A Child, A Lazy Activeness, A Mad Wisdom, A Solitude Encompassing The World.

I Have Seafoam In My Veins, I Understand The Language Of Waves.

The Poet, By Composing Poems, Uses A Language That Is Neither Dead Nor Living, That Few People Speak, And Few People Understand We Are The Servants Of An Unknown Force That Lives Within Us, Manipulates Us, And Dictates This Language To Us.

An Artist Cannot Speak About His Art Any More Than A Plant Can Discuss Horticulture.

Since The Day Of My Birth, My Death Began Its Walk. It Is Walking Toward Me, Without Hurrying.

Artists Can No More Speak About Their Work, Than Plants Can Speak About Horticulture.

At All Costs The True World Of Childhood Must Prevail, Must Be Restored; That World Whose Momentous, Heroic, Mysterious Quality Is Fed On Airy Nothings, Whose Substance Is So Ill-fitted To Withstand The Brutal Touch Of Adult Inquisition.

One Must Not Mistake Majority For Truth.

Be A Mere Assistant To Your Unconscious. Do Only Half The Work. The Rest Will Do Itself.

Find First, Seek Later.

We Must Believe In Luck. For How Else Can We Explain The Success Of Those We Don't Like?

Beauty Cannot Be Recognized With A Cursory Glance.

A Picture Is Not A Window...an Abstract Refers To No Reality But Its Own.

I Only Fear The Death Of Others. For Me, True Death Is That Of The People I Love

The Poet Doesn't Invent. He Listens.

May The Devil Himself Splatter You With Dung.

The Preservation Of Friendship Is Seen As Opportunism. You Are Required To Be In One Camp Or The Other. You Are Enjoined To Cut Your Heartstrings If They Extend Across The Barricade.

Whatever The World Condemns You For, Make It Your Own. It Is Yourself.

The Hot Hall Full Of Painted Girls And American Soldiers Is A Saloon In Some Western Film. This Noise Drenches Us, Wakens Us To Do Something Else. It Shows Us A Lost Path.

A Child's Reaction To This Type Of Calamity Is Twofold And Extreme. Not Knowing How Deeply, Powerfully, Life Drops Anchor Into Its Vast Sources Of Recuperation, He Is Bound To Envisage, At Once, The Very Worst; Yet At The Same Time, Because Of His Inability To Imagine Death, The Worst Remains Totally Unreal To Him. Gerard Went On Repeating: "paul's Dying; Paul's Going To Die"' But He Did Not Believe It. Paul's Death Would Be Part Of The Dream, A Dream Of Snow, Of Journeying Forever.

Don't For A Moment Believe He Was Killing The Young; He Was Costuming Angels.

The Ability To Laugh Heartily Is The Sign Of A Healthy Soul.

My Little Renoirs. Matisse Describes Having Seen Renoir Make These Tiny Canvases. When He Had Finished Working, He Would Use Up The Color Left In His Brushes On Them.

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I Have Lost My Seven Best Friends, Which Is To Say God Has Had Mercy On Me Seven Times Without Realizing It. He Lent A Friendship, Took It From Me, Sent Me Another.

Mirrors Would Do Well To Reflect A Little More Before Sending Back Images.

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