Most people in this society who aren't actively mad are, at best, reformed or potential lunatics.

Sanity is a cozy lie.

A family's photograph album is generally about the extended family and, often, is all that remains of it.

The taste for quotations (and for the juxtaposition of incongruous quotations) is a Surrealist taste.

A fiction about soft or easy deaths is part of the mythology of most diseases that are not considered shameful or demeaning.

What is the most beautiful in virile men is something feminine; what is most beautiful in feminine women is something masculine.

I haven't been everywhere, but it's on my list.

In place of a hermeneutics we need an erotics of art.

Surrealism in painting amounted to little more than the contents of a meagerly stocked dream world: a few witty fantasies, mostly wet dreams and agoraphobic nightmares.

It is easier to endure than to change. But once one has changed, what was endured is hard to recall.

A large part of the popularity and persuasiveness of psychology comes from its being a sublimated spiritualism: a secular, ostensibly scientific way of affirming the primacy of "spirit" over matter.

As swords were designed to killThey did well to make them tongue-shaped.(Anwar-i-Suhaili)

Don't get me wrong. I'm happy to be your morning lollipop, but I need to eat, too.

Perhaps he was probing the enigma of why men fall in love with their dreams, which are then so destroyed by harsh realities that their dreamers become cuckolded by their own illusions. Perhaps...

The light is supposed to enter through your breaks, wounds, and cracks.

The great artists are those who impose their personal vision upon humanity.

Moscow... how many strains are fusing in that one sound, for Russian hearts! What store of riches it imparts!

It's nice to know that [God] can destroy us in a myriad of ways.

I hope to be involved in a successful movie script.

I'd rather have a lot of little donations than a couple big ones. That shows that people care and are giving what they can.

Life is a waste of woes, And Death a river deep, That ever onward flows, Troubled, yet asleep.