We are in a period of such individualism that one no longer speaks of disciples; one speaks of thieves.
JEAN COCTEAUMay the devil himself splatter you with dung.
More Jean Cocteau Quotes
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The speed of a runaway horse counts for nothing.
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Poetry is a religion without hope. The poet exhausts himself in its service, knowing that, in the long run, a masterpiece is nothing but the performance of a trained dog on very shaky ground.
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The prettiest dresses are worn to be taken off.
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Do as the beautiful woman: see to your figure and your petticoats. Though, of course, I am not speaking literally.
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One must not mistake majority for truth.
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An original artist is unable to copy. So he has only to copy in order to be original.
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A film is a petrified fountain of thought.
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Art is a marriage of the conscious and the unconscious.
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May the devil himself splatter you with dung.
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Fight any instinct to be humorless, for humorlessness is the worst of all absurdities.
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It is difficult to live without opium after having known it because it is difficult, after knowing opium, to take earth seriously. And unless one is a saint, it is difficult to live without taking earth seriously.
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An artist cannot speak about his art any more than a plant can discuss horticulture.
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Whatever the world condemns you for, make it your own. It is yourself.
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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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Cultivate everything the critics hated in your first work – that’s what makes you unique.
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Appreciation of art is a moral erection, otherwise mere dilettantism.
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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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Since the day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying.
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Not only should you not accept a prize. You should not try to deserve one either.
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Children and lunatics cut the Gordian knot which the poet spends his life patiently trying to untie.
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It is not I who become addicted, it is my body.
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I feel myself inhabited by a force or being — very little known to me. It gives the orders; I follow.
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The joy of the young is to disobey.
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If it has to choose who is to be crucified, the crowd will always save Barabbas.
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The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth.
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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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