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Those who live, live off the dead.

Antonin Artaud

I am a man by virtue of my hands and my feet, my belly, my heart of meat, my stomach whose knots reunite me to the putrefaction of life.
ANTONIN ARTAUD

Hands Life Man Myself Virtue
Cruelty in the theatre is unrelenting decisiveness, diligence, strictness.
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Cruelty Decision Strict Theatre
Life consists of burning up questions.
ANTONIN ARTAUD

Burning Consist Life One Liner Question
We have the right to lie, but not about the heart of the matter.
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Feeling Heart Lying Right
If our life lacks a constant magic it is because we choose to observe our acts and lose ourselves in consideration of their imagined form and meaning, instead of being impelled by their force.
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Force Form Imagination Life Magic Observation Ourselves
I would like to write a Book which would drive men mad, which would be like an open door leading them where they would never have consented to go, in short, a door that opens onto reality.
ANTONIN ARTAUD

Book Leadership Myself Open Reality Writing
Don’t tire yourself more than need be, even at the price of founding a culture on the fatigue of your bones.
ANTONIN ARTAUD

Bone Culture Fatigue Price Yourself
I do not like detached creation. Neither can I conceive of the mind as detached from itself. Each of my works, each diagram of myself, each glacial flowering of my inmost soul dribbles over me.
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Creation Diagram Mindset Myself Soul
We must wash literature off ourselves. We want to be men above all, to be human.
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Human Literature Ourselves
Poetry is a dissociating and anarchic force which through analogy, associations and imagery, thrives on the destruction of known relationships.
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Destruction Force Image Poetry Relationahip Thrive
Squander your riches far from this unfeeling body to which no season, either spiritual or sensual, makes any difference.
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Difference Feeling Rich Sensuality Spiritual
Destroy yourselves, you who are desperate, and you who are tortured in body and soul, abandon all hope. There is no more solace for you in this world. The world lives off your rotting flesh.
ANTONIN ARTAUD

Body Desperate Destroy Soul World Yourself
So long as we have failed to eliminate any of the causes of human despair, we do not have the right to try to eliminate those means by which man tries to cleanse himself of despair.
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Cleaning Despair Elimination Failure Himself Human Right Try
The idea of a detached art, of poetry as a charm which exists only to distract our leisure, is a decadent idea and an unmistakable symptom of our power to castrate.
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Art Ideas Mistake Ourselves Poetry Power
Hell is of this world and there are men who are unhappy escapees from hell, escapees destined ETERNALLY to reenact their escape.
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Escape Forever Hell Man World
And if there is still one hellish, truly accursed thing in our time, it is our artistic dallying with forms, instead of being like victims burnt at the stake, signaling through the flames.
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Artistic Flame Hell Ourselves Time Victim

Those who live, live off the dead.

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Those who live, live off the dead.

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