If a poet has a dream, it is not of becoming famous, but of being believed.
JEAN COCTEAUThe eyes of the dead are closed gently; we also have to open gently the eyes of the living.
More Jean Cocteau Quotes
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Mirrors should reflect a little before throwing back images.
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Mirrors should think longer before they reflect.
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Never do what a specialist can do better. Discover your own specialty. Do not despair if your specialty appears to be more delicate, a lesser thing. Make up in finesse what you lose in force.
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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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We are in a period of such individualism that one no longer speaks of disciples; one speaks of thieves.
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There’s no such thing as love; only proof of love.
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After you have written a thing and you reread it, there is always the temptation to fix it up, to improve it, to remove its poison, blunt its sting.
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I’ve always preferred mythology to history. History is truth that becomes an illusion. Mythology is an illusion that becomes reality.
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The eyes of the dead are closed gently; we also have to open gently the eyes of the living.
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We shelter an angel within us. We must be the guardians of that angel.
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I have a piece of great and sad news to tell you: I am dead.
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The job of the poet (a job which can’t be learned) consists of placing those objects of the visible world which have become invisible due to the glue of habit, in an unusual position which strikes the soul and gives them a tragic force.
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It is excruciating to be an unbeliever with a spirit that is deeply religious.
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All good music resembles something. Good music stirs by its mysterious resemblance to the objects and feelings which motivated it.
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You’ve never seen death? Look in the mirror every day and you will see it like bees working in a glass hive.
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The only way to kill death is through photography.
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The dead drug leaves a ghost behind. At certain hours it haunts the house.
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A film is a petrified fountain of thought.
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The public is never pleased with what we do, wanting always a copy of what we have done.
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Silence moves faster when it’s going backward.
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If it has to choose who is to be crucified, the crowd will always save Barabbas.
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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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Not only should you not accept a prize. You should not try to deserve one either.
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The speed of a runaway horse counts for nothing.
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Here I am trying to live, or rather, I am trying to teach the death within me how to live.
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Continue reading Proust. His magnificent intelligence is particularly fond of describing stupidity. Which is ultimately exhausting.
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