There are too many souls of wood not to love those wooden characters who do indeed have a soul.
From Jean Cocteau
Life is a horizontal fall.
Man seeks to escape himself in myth, and does so by any means at his disposal. Drugs, alcohol, or lies. Unable to withdraw into himself, he disguises himself. Lies and inaccuracy give him a few moments of comfort.
Poets don't draw. They unravel their handwriting and then tie it up again, but differently.
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.
Film will only became an art when its materials are as inexpensive as pencil and paper.
Silence moves faster when it's going backward.
The poet never asks for admiration; he wants to be believed.
The ear disapproves but tolerates certain musical pieces; transfer them into the domain of our nose, and we will be forced to flee.
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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