The only way to kill death is through photography.
JEAN COCTEAUMy method is simple: not to bother about poetry. It must come of its own accord. Merely whispering its name drives it away.
More Jean Cocteau Quotes
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A true photographer is as rare as a true poet or a true painter.
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If a poet has a dream, it is not of becoming famous, but of being believed.
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After the writer’s death, reading his journal is like receiving a long letter.
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Art produces ugly things which frequently become more beautiful with time. Fashion, on the other hand, produces beautiful things which always become ugly with time.
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Poetry, being elegance itself, cannot hope to achieve visibility… It insists on living its own life.
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Whatever the world condemns you for, make it your own. It is yourself.
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It is not I who become addicted, it is my body.
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I only fear the death of others. For me, true death is that of the people I love.
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If it has to choose who is to be crucified, the crowd will always save Barabbas.
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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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Since these mysteries exceed my grasp, I shall pretend to have organized them.
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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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French people are Italian people in a bad mood.
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Lying is the only art form that the public sanctions and instinctively prefers to reality.
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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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It is excruciating to be an unbeliever with a spirit that is deeply religious.
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Anything of any importance cannot help but be unrecognizable, since it bears no resemblance to anything already known.
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Since the day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying.
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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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When a work appears to be ahead of its time, it is only the time that is behind the work.
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The dead drug leaves a ghost behind. At certain hours it haunts the house.
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Cultivate everything the critics hated in your first work – that’s what makes you unique.
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One of the characteristics of the dream is that nothing surprises us in it. With no regret, we agree to live in it with strangers, completely cut off from our habits and friends.
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Appreciation of art is a moral erection, otherwise mere dilettantism.
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The extreme limit of wisdom, that’s what the public calls madness.
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Art is a marriage of the conscious and the unconscious.
JEAN COCTEAU