
Joy always came after pain.

I hate artists who are not of their time.

I love men, not for what unites them, but for what divides them, and I want to know most of all what gnaws at their hearts.

People quickly grow accustomed to being the slaves of mystery.

My blue mask as a God puts on his sky

Today you are walking in Paris the women are all steeped in blood
It was and I'd rather not remember it was at beauty's decline

The domain of the imagination is reality.

Geometry is to the plastic arts what grammar is to the art of the writer.

Come to the edge," he said.
They said, "We are afraid."
Come to the edge," he said.
They came.
He pushed them ... and they flew.

Memories are hunting horns whose sound dies on the wind.

Without artists, the order which we find in nature, and which is only an effect of art, would at once vanish.

Color is the fruit of life.

How slow life is, how violent hope is.

Artists are, above all, men who want to become inhuman.

Paint with whatever material you please - with pipes, postage stamps, postcards or playing cards, painted paper, or newspapers.

A structure becomes architectural, and not sculptural, when its elements no longer have their justification in nature.

Six mirrors keep staring at one another
("Monday rue Christine")

One can't carry one's father's corpse about everywhere.

II
I'm no longer myself in here
I know
I'm number fifteen in the eleventh
Row

When man wanted to make a machine that would walk he created the wheel, which does not resemble a leg.

Overhead in the Paris sky
Two airplanes fought it out one day
And one of them was my whole youth
The other was my days to come

I don't want to work. I want to smoke.