The pimp has a grin, never a smile.
JEAN GENETSolitude, as I understand it, does not signify an unhappy state, but rather secret royalty, profound incommunicability yet a more or less obscure knowledge of an invulnerable singularity.
More Jean Genet Quotes
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Repudiating the virtues of your world, criminals hopelessly agree to organize a forbidden universe. They agree to live in it. The air there is nauseating. They can breathe it.
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Worse than not realizing the dreams of your youth, would be to have been young and never dreamed at all.
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Anyone who hasn’t experienced the ecstasy of betrayal knows nothing about ecstasy at all.
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The time for reasoning is past; now’s the time to get steamed up and fight like mad.
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The despondency that follows makes me feel somewhat like a shipwrecked man who spies a sail, sees himself saved, and suddenly remembers that the lens of his spyglass has a flaw, a blurred spot — the sail he has seen.
JEAN GENET -
I recognize in thieves, traitors and murderers, in the ruthless and the cunning, a deep beauty – a sunken beauty.
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The fame of heroes owes little to the extent of their conquests and all to the success of the tributes paid to them.
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Beauty has no other origin than the singular wound, different in every case, hidden or visible, which each man bears within himself, which he preserves, and into which he withdraws when he would quit the world for a temporary but authentic solitude.
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The most reasonable man always manages, when he pulls the trigger, to become a dispenser of justice.
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Anyone who’s never experienced the pleasure of betrayal doesn’t know what pleasure is.
JEAN GENET -
There is a close relationship between flowers and convicts. The fragility and delicacy of the former are of the same nature as the brutal insensitivity of the latter.
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When we see life, we call it beautiful. When we see death, we call it ugly. But it is more beautiful still to see oneself living at great speed, right up to the moment of death.
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I give the name violence to a boldness lying idle and enamored of danger.
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Erotic play discloses a nameless world which is revealed by the nocturnal language of lovers. Such language is not written down. It is whispered into the ear at night in a hoarse voice. At dawn it is forgotten.
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Love makes use of the worst traps. The least noble. The rarest. It exploits coincidence.
JEAN GENET