FAMOUS QUOTE OF SALVADOR DALI

 

 

Discover the most famous quotes and proverbs of Salvador DALI, spanish painter and sculptor, charismatic member of the Surrealist movement


Salvador DALI  LittleBigDolls Salvador DALI



 

It is difficult to attract the world's intense attention for more than half an hour in a row. I have managed to do so for twenty years, and every day. My motto was that we should talk about Dali even if we talk about it well.
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Dress is essential to win. There are very few occasions in my life when I have debased myself in civilian clothes. I'm still dressed in Dali's uniform.

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I've never wanted to eat it so much.

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Hitler, interested me only as an object of my delirium and because it seemed to me of incomparable catastrophic value.

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Intelligence leads to the fog of nuances of scepticism, intelligence leads to the gastronomic coefficient of super-gelatinous, Proustian and faisandée uncertainty.

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The jealousy of other painters has always been the thermometer of my success.

Mistakes are almost always sacred. Never try to correct them.

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The only difference between a madman and me is that I'm not mad.

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Don't worry about being modern. It's the only thing that unfortunately, no matter what you do, you can't avoid being.

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In the hall was sitting René Clair, reading the newspaper. He looked up, his eyes continually skeptical, surrounded, as we know, by the unhealable and congenital bruise of Cartesian cocoon.

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It is better to fart to kill time, than to mediate, to make libels or bad verses.

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I hate dirty flies. I only like clean/very clean flies.

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The most successful balls are the ones we talk about the most without having been there.

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The only thing the world can never have enough of is exaggeration.

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The least we can ask a sculpture to do is not to move.

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It is difficult to attract the world's intense attention for more than half an hour in a row. I have managed to do so for twenty years, and every day. My motto was "that we talk about Dali even if we talk about it well".

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I have already said, when I met him, that Freud's skull looked like a Burgundy snail. The consequence is obvious: if you want to eat your thought you have to take it out with a needle. Then it comes out all of it.

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We are entering the era of great painting. Something ended in 1954 with the death of this algae painter who was just good at promoting bourgeois digestion, I mean Henri Matisse, painter of the 1789 revolution.

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It is difficult to attract the world's intense attention for more than half an hour in a row. I have managed to do so for twenty years, and every day. My motto was that we should talk about Dali even if we talk about it well.

Dress is essential to win. There are very few occasions in my life when I have debased myself in civilian clothes. I'm still dressed in Dali's uniform.

-----------------------------------

I've never wanted to eat it so much.

-----------------------------------

Hitler, interested me only as an object of my delirium and because it seemed to me of incomparable catastrophic value.

-----------------------------------

Intelligence leads to the fog of nuances of scepticism, intelligence leads to the gastronomic coefficient of super-gelatinous, Proustian and faisandée uncertainty.

-----------------------------------

The jealousy of other painters has always been the thermometer of my success.

Mistakes are almost always sacred. Never try to correct them.

-----------------------------------

The only difference between a madman and me is that I'm not mad.

-----------------------------------

Don't worry about being modern. It's the only thing that unfortunately, no matter what you do, you can't avoid being.

-----------------------------------

In the hall was sitting René Clair, reading the newspaper. He looked up, his eyes continually skeptical, surrounded, as we know, by the unhealable and congenital bruise of Cartesian cocoon.

-----------------------------------

It is better to fart to kill time, than to mediate, to make libels or bad verses.

-----------------------------------

I hate dirty flies. I only like clean/very clean flies.

-----------------------------------

The most successful balls are the ones we talk about the most without having been there.

-----------------------------------

The only thing the world can never have enough of is exaggeration.

-----------------------------------

The least we can ask a sculpture to do is not to move.

-----------------------------------

It is difficult to attract the world's intense attention for more than half an hour in a row. I have managed to do so for twenty years, and every day. My motto was "that we talk about Dali even if we talk about it well".

-----------------------------------

I have already said, when I met him, that Freud's skull looked like a Burgundy snail. The consequence is obvious: if you want to eat your thought you have to take it out with a needle. Then it comes out all of it.

-----------------------------------

We are entering the era of great painting. Something ended in 1954 with the death of this algae painter who was just good at promoting bourgeois digestion, I mean Henri Matisse, painter of the 1789 revolution.

-----------------------------------

It is difficult to attract the world's intense attention for more than half an hour in a row. I have managed to do so for twenty years, and every day. My motto was that we should talk about Dali even if we talk about it well.

Dress is essential to win. There are very few occasions in my life when I have debased myself in civilian clothes. I'm still dressed in Dali's uniform.

-----------------------------------

I've never wanted to eat it so much.

-----------------------------------

Hitler, interested me only as an object of my delirium and because it seemed to me of incomparable catastrophic value.

-----------------------------------

Intelligence leads to the fog of nuances of scepticism, intelligence leads to the gastronomic coefficient of super-gelatinous, Proustian and faisandée uncertainty.

-----------------------------------

The jealousy of other painters has always been the thermometer of my success.

Mistakes are almost always sacred. Never try to correct them.

-----------------------------------

The only difference between a madman and me is that I'm not mad.

-----------------------------------

Don't worry about being modern. It's the only thing that unfortunately, no matter what you do, you can't avoid being.

-----------------------------------

In the hall was sitting René Clair, reading the newspaper. He looked up, his eyes continually skeptical, surrounded, as we know, by the unhealable and congenital bruise of Cartesian cocoon.

-----------------------------------

It is better to fart to kill time, than to mediate, to make libels or bad verses.

-----------------------------------

I hate dirty flies. I only like clean/very clean flies.

-----------------------------------

The most successful balls are the ones we talk about the most without having been there.

-----------------------------------

The only thing the world can never have enough of is exaggeration.

-----------------------------------

The least we can ask a sculpture to do is not to move.

-----------------------------------

It is difficult to attract the world's intense attention for more than half an hour in a row. I have managed to do so for twenty years, and every day. My motto was "that we talk about Dali even if we talk about it well".

-----------------------------------

I have already said, when I met him, that Freud's skull looked like a Burgundy snail. The consequence is obvious: if you want to eat your thought you have to take it out with a needle. Then it comes out all of it.

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We are entering the era of great painting. Something ended in 1954 with the death of this algae painter who was just good at promoting bourgeois digestion, I mean Henri Matisse, painter of the 1789 revolution.

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Adolescence is the appearance of the first hairs.

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Beauty will be edible or not.

Love begins with the head, and ends with three small drops in the pee tube.

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Critical paranoid activity is an organizing and producing force of objective chance.

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I am a practitioner, but not a believer.

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There are days when I think I'm going to die of an overdose of self-satisfaction.

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There are days when I think I'm going to die of an overdose of self-satisfaction.

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The only difference between a madman and me is that I'm not mad.

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Snobbery is about always being able to place yourself in places where others do not have access.

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The least we can ask a sculpture to do is not to move.

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I consider my life to be filled with a delusional opportunity. Every month that passes, I am more and more surrounded by authentic madmen who come to me by chance.


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The two happiest things that can happen to a contemporary painter are: first, being Spanish, and second, being called Dali. They both happened to me.

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I consider love to be the only attitude worthy of a man's life.

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Critical paranoid activity is an organizing and producing force of objective chance.

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Mistakes are almost always sacred. Never try to correct them.

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I presume that my readers do not remember / or very vaguely/ this period of their lives so important and strange that anteceda their birth and which took place in the womb of their mother, me oi ge men subien, and as if that were maintained, this for / this reason that I begin my freedom with the osuvenirs of this period which is/is not in doubt/ the first

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Don't be afraid to achieve perfection, you will never succeed

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I didn't say everything, and I took care to keep in stock rotten apples explosive grenades..... If I am told that Matisse's colours are complementary, I would answer that indeed they do not stop doing other things than compliments.
And then I will repeat again that it might be good to be a little careful with abstract painting. By dint of becoming abstract, its monetary value will also become abstract very soon. There is a gradation in the misfortune of non-figurative painting: there is abstract art that looks so sad; then what is even sadder is an abstract painter; sadness gets worse when you find yourself in front of an amateur of abstract painting; but there are even worse and more sinister: being a critic and an expert of abstract painting.
Sometimes something amazing happens: all the critics are unanimous in saying that something is very good or that something is very bad. Then we can be sure that all this is not true! You have to be the last of the driest morons to say that if your hair turns white, it's normal for glued papers to turn yellow.

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I am being asked to put forward one last Dalinian idea about what women should wear.
As I speak, I answer:
-- Breasts in the back!
-- Why?
-- Because the breasts contain white milk capable of creating an angelic effect.
-- Are you referring to the immaculate complexion of angels?
-- I'm referring to women's shoulder blades. If two jets of milk are created, extending their shoulder blades and obtaining a stroboscopic photograph of the result, we will have exactly the same "angel wings with droplets" as Memling painted.

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A journalist comes from New York on purpose to ask me what I think of Leonardo's Mona Lisa. I tell him:

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- I am a great admirer of Marcel Duchamp who is precisely the man who made these famous transformations on the Mona Lisa's face. He had drawn very small moustaches for her, moustaches that were already Dalinian. Underneath the photograph, he had added in very small letters that we could just read: "L.H.O.O.O.Q" She's hot on her ass! I have always admired Duchamp's attitude, which at the time corresponded to an even more important question: whether or not to burn the Louvre.

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One day, in painting class, we are forced to paint, according to nature, a Gothic statuette of the Virgin Mary. The teacher recommends that we do exactly what each of us "sees". As soon as he turned his back on a frenetic need for mystification, I began to paint, inspired by a catalogue, a balance that I drew with the most rigorous accuracy. All my classmates think I've really gone crazy. At the end of the week, the teacher comes to correct and comment on our work, and remains frozen in front of the image I offer him. All the students surrounding us in an anxious silence, I dare to say in a voice a little embarrassed by my shyness: "It may be that you see a Virgin like everyone else, however, I see a balance".

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Great artists are all helpless.

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This book will prove that a genius' daily life, his sleep, his digestion, his ecstasies, his nails, his colds, his blood, his life and his death are essentially different from those of the rest of humanity. This unique book is therefore the first journal written by a genius

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The intrauterine paradise is the color of the fire of hell: red, orange, yellow and blue. It is soft, immobile, warm, symmetrical, double and sticky.


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In the world, in an intermittent but monotonous way, I meet very elegant women, therefore moderately pretty, with almost monstrously developed coccyx bones. For several years, in general, these women have been burning with the desire to know me in person.
The conversation between the two of us is regularly of this order:

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Coccyx Woman: I naturally knew you by name.
Me Dali: Me too
Coccyx Woman: You may have noticed that I haven't stopped looking at you. I find you fascinating.
Me Dali: Me too.
Coccyx Woman: Don't be flattering! You didn't even see me.
Me Dali: I'm talking about myself, Madam.
Coccyx Woman: I always wonder how you get your whiskers to point in the air.
Me Dali: Dates!
Coccyx Woman: What?
Me Dali: Dates. Yes, dates, palm fruits. For dessert, I ask for dates, I eat them and before washing my fingers in the bowl when I'm done, I lightly run them over my whiskers. That's enough to hold them.
Coccyx Woman: !!!!!!!!!
Me Dali: Another advantage is that the sugar in dates inevitably attracts all flies.
Coccyx Woman: What a horror!
Me Dali: I love flies. I'm only happy in the sun, naked and covered with flies.
Coccyx Woman (already convinced by the rigorous tone of authenticity of everything I told her): But how can you like being covered with flies? It's so dirty!
Me Dali: I hate dirty flies. I only like clean flies.
Coccyx Woman: I wonder how you can tell the difference between clean and dirty flies.
Me Dali: I can see that right now. I can't stand the dirty city or even village fly, with a yellow mayonnaise belly and swollen, with black wings as if they had been soaked in a gloomy necrophilic rhyme. I only like the flies that are extremely clean, supergaies, dressed in small costumes of grey alpaca by Balenciaga, sparkling like a dry rainbow, precise like mica, with garnet eyes and a belly of yellow noble from Naples, like the wonderful little olive flies from Port Lligat where no one lives but Gala and Dali. These small flies have the grace to always land on the oxidized silver side of the olive leaf. They are the fairies of the Mediterranean. They inspired Greek philosophers who spent their lives in the sun, covered with flies... Your dreamy look already leads me to believe that you are acquired with flies.... To conclude on this chapter, I will tell you that, the day I am thinking, I will be disturbed by the flies that cover me, I will know that this means that my ideas do not have the power of this paranoid flow that is the sign of my genius. On the other hand, if I don't notice flies, it's the best sign that I completely dominate the spiritual situation.
Coccyx Woman: Deep down, everything you say seems to make sense! So is it true that your whiskers are antennas through which you receive your ideas?

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To this question the divine Dali flies away and surpasses. He embroiders on all his favourite themes, embroiders Vermeer lace so fine, so hypocritical, bewitching and gastronomic that the female coccyx should only remain the Cuban coccyx. That is, as you already think, the pure cocuficator concubine, who, through my cybernetic process, deceives her male, the concubine's concubine.

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Congresses are strange monsters surrounded by the essence of behind-the-scenes where physiologically appropriate beings, in other words, flowing people, flow.

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I am also thinking about the picturesque nicknames of the fishermen of Port Lligat: the Marquis, the Minister, the African, there are even three Jesus Christ. I am convinced that there are few places in the world - and so few - where three Jesus Christ meet!

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Don't be afraid of perfection, you'll never succeed!

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When I opened Nietzsche for the first time, I was deeply shocked. In black and white, he had the audacity to say: "God is dead!" How! I had just learned that there was no God and now someone was telling me about his death! My first suspicions were born.

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who knows how to taste never drinks wine again but tastes secrets

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...and that our passions are devouring, but that we have an appetite to live bigger, in order to devour them.

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It was really by playing at being a genius that I became one.

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Deeply absorbed in my erotic reveries, I only listen very vaguely to the conversation of three Barcelonians who, as of course, are still trying to listen to the music of the spheres. They repeat the story of the shooting star that has been extinguished for millions of years and yet we still see the light that continues to travel, etc.
As I cannot share any of their amazing "feints", I tell them that nothing that happens in the universe surprises me and that is the pure truth. Then one of the Barcelonians, a well-known watchmaker, told me, unable to cope anymore:
-- None of this surprises you! Good. But let's imagine one thing. It is now midnight and on the horizon there is a glow that announces the dawn. You look intensely and suddenly you see the sun coming out. At midnight! Wouldn't you be surprised?
-- No," I replied, "I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest.
The watchmaker from Barcelona cried out:
-- Well, I don't think so! And even so much that I'd think I was going crazy.
So Salvador Dali dropped one of those lapidary answers he has the secret of:
-- Me, it's the opposite! I'd think it was the sun that went crazy.
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About a very long, really very long fart and, let's say the truth, melodious, that I let go when I wake up, I remembered Michel de Montaigne. This author reports that Saint Augustine was a famous petomaniac who managed to play entire scores.

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If these gentlemen have nothing better to do, they are right, you have to brighten up the boredom of an office, and it is better to fart to kill time, than to mediate, to make libels or bad worms.

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"The poet must, before anyone else, prove what he says. "

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The poet must, before anyone else, prove what he says.

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"The only difference between a madman and me is that I'm not mad! »

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When Narcissus' clear and divine anatomy
looks at the dark mirror of the lake,

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when his white chest bent forward
freezes, frozen, in the silvery and hypnotic curve of his desire, when time passes on the clock of the sand flowers of his own flesh,

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Narcissus annihilates himself in the cosmic vertigo in the depths of which sings the cold, Dionysian siren of his own image.
Narcissus' body is emptied and lost in the abyss of his reflection, like the hourglass that we will not turn around.

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Narcissus, you lose your body, carried away and confused by the millennial reflection of your disappearance, your body struck by death descends towards the precipice of topazes with yellow wrecks of love,
your white body, swallowed up, follows the slope of the ferociously mineral stream of black gems with pungent scents, your body... up to the matt mouthpieces of the night on the edge of which already sparks all the red silverware of the broken-veined vanes in "the blood piers".

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Narcissus,
do you understand?
Symmetry, the divine hypnosis of the geometry of the spirit, already fills your head with this unhealable, vegetable, atavistic and slow sleep
that dries out the brain
in the parchment substance
of the nucleus of your close metamorphosis.

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The seed on your head just fell into the water.
Man returns to the vegetable
and the gods
by the heavy sleep of fatigue
by the transparent hypnosis of their passions.
Narcissus, you are so motionless
that you look like you're asleep.
If it were rough and brown Hercules,
it looks like it sleeps like a trunk.
in the posture
of a Herculean oak tree.
But you, Narcissus,
formed by timid, fragrant outbreaks of transparent adolescence,
you sleep like a flower.
Now the great mystery is approaching,
that the great metamorphosis is about to take place.

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Narcissus, in its immobility, absorbed by its reflection with the digestive slowness of carnivorous plants, becomes invisible.

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There's only one of him left.
than the hallucinating oval of whiteness in his head,
his head softer again,
its head, a chrysalis of biological ulterior motives,
his head supported at the fingertips of the water,
at your fingertips,
of the senseless hand,
of the terrible hand,
of the coprophagic hand,
of the deadly hand
of its own reflection.
When that head splits
When that head cracks,
When that head explodes,
it will be the flower,
the new Narcissus,
Gala - my narcissus

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I am in a state of permanent intellectual erection, and everything comes before my desires.

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Love begins with the head, and ends with three small drops in the pee tube.

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A journalist comes from New York on purpose to ask me what I think of Leonardo's Mona Lisa. I tell him:
-- I am a great admirer of Marcel Duchamp who is precisely the man who made these famous transformations on the Mona Lisa's face. He had drawn very small moustaches for her, moustaches that were already Dalinian. Below the photograph, he had added in very small letters that could only be read: "L.H.O.O.O.Q." She's hot on her ass!

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Gala, like a mother with her child who has no appetite, insisted:
-- Come on, little Dali, try this very rare product. It is liquid amber, amber that has not been burned. They say Vermeer used it to paint.
With a disgusted and nostalgic look, I tried:
-- Yes! It looks like this amber has qualities. But you know I don't have time to deal with these details. I have much better. I have an idea! An idea that will shock everyone, especially surrealists. We won't be able to say anything because I've had two dreams about this new William Tell! It is Lenin. I want to paint it with a buttock three meters long supported by a crutch. I would need a five and a half meter canvas for that.... I will paint my Lenin with his lyrical appendix even if I am expelled from the surrealist group. He will hold in his arms a little boy who will be me. But he'll look at me with a cannibal eye and I'll scream, "He wants to eat me!..."

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When I opened Nietzsche for the first time, I was deeply shocked. In black and white, he had the audacity to say: "God is dead! "How! I had just learned that there was no God and now someone was telling me about his death! My first suspicions were born.

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Those who don't want to imitate anyone never create anything.

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My mother's death this past year was the greatest of all my despair. I idolized him. His image was unique to me. I knew the moral values of his holy soul so above all that there is human that I could not resign myself to the loss of a being on whom I was relying to make invisible the hidden defects of my soul.

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If I am told that Matisse's colours are complementary, I would answer that indeed they do not stop doing other things than compliments. And then I would repeat again that it might be a good idea to be a little careful with abstract painting. As it becomes more and more abstract, its monetary value will soon become abstract. There is a gradation in the misfortune of non-figurative painting; there is abstract art that looks sad; then what is even sadder is an abstract painter; sadness gets worse when you find yourself in front of an amateur of abstract painting; but there is even worse and more sinister: being critical and expert of abstract painting. Sometimes something amazing happens: all the critics are unanimous in saying that something is very good or that something is very bad. Then we can be sure that all this is not true! You have to be the last of the driest morons to say that if your hair turns white, it's normal for glued papers to turn yellow.
andes chances that a painter can have, it is first of all to be Spanish, and secondly to be called Dali.

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Braque - just like Voltaire with the Good Lord - we greet each other, but we don't talk to each other.

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After lunch, Mr. Pitchot closed the shutters himself, giving the order to do the same throughout the house. A storm was coming, he claimed. I looked at the sky as blue and smooth as a sheet of calm water. But Mr. Pitchot, driving me to the balcony, signalled me on the horizon of small cumulus clouds rising into the sky.
- See these "towers"? Before the snack, we will have lightning and maybe even hail.
I clung to the balcony railing, amazed by the clouds that suddenly reminded me of the damp spots on the ceiling of Mr. Trayter's classroom. It seemed to me that I would see in them all the disordered fantasies of my childhood, buried in my oblivion and miraculously resurrected in the glory of the flesh and the foam of the fulgurant cumulus of light. Winged horses swelled their breasts from which all the breasts, melons and diabolos of my desire flourished. One of the clouds, in the shape of man-headed elephants, split into two smaller clouds that metamorphosed into two giant, bearded wrestlers with bloated muscle bodies; for a moment far away, they approached at a frightening speed; the shock was terrible. I saw the two bodies interpenetrating, mixing with each other and forming a confused and tumultuous mass that soon turned into another image: Beethoven's bust.

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Criticism is a sublime thing. She's only worthy of geniuses.

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I consider love to be the only attitude worthy of a man's life.

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What is your secret to success? - Offer good honey to the right fly at the right time and in the right place.

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Strong refractory individualities remind us that we are negative to the extent that we want to be and that the exception alone changes the course of events. God wants gods in men. By not renouncing ourselves, we reject the fatum; we change ourselves into destiny.

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My best memories are those of the future.

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My whole life has been determined by two conflicting ideas: the summit and the bottom.

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Soft watches are nothing more than camembert

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Painting, like love, comes in through the eyes,

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If you play genius, you become genius!

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When I was six years old, I wanted to become a cook.
When I was seven, I wanted to be Napoleon
But the age of reason taught me that there was no greater ambition

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There is always a time in their lives when people realize that they love me.

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Painter only drinks alcohol and chews hashish five times in your life.

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I had come to the Sorbonne in a Rolls full of vegetables, but the season doesn't lend itself to giant cauliflowers. We have to wait until next March. The biggest one I'll find, I'll light it up and photograph it from a certain angle. So _and I gave my word of honour as a Spaniard_ the photo once developed, everyone will see a Lacemaker with Vermeer's own technique.
A real frenzy has taken over the room. All I had to do was tell them a few anecdotes. I chose the one of Genghis Khan. I was told that Genghis Khan had once heard the nightingale sing in a heavenly place where he wanted to be buried, and the next day he saw in his dreams a red-eyed white rhino, an albino. Considering this dream as an omen, he renounced the conquest of Tibet. Isn't it a great analogy with my childhood memory which, as we all remember, also begins with the song of the nightingale before the obsession of the Lacemaker, the bread croutons and the rhino horn?

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"Below lay the mutilated city, fat scattered smoke, like shreds of black butter brains, escaping from the exploded skull of tall buildings, houses with eyes hollowed out by the invisible spoons of bombs."

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"Cledalism is the pleasure provided by the suffering to which you are subjected by the object. »

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"Contemporary history offers an exceptional framework for a novel about the evolution and conflicts of great human passions, and that the history of war, and more specifically that of the poignant post-war period, had to be written. »

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What are the people of the world? They are people who, instead of standing on both legs, balance on one like flamingos. This aristocratic and deliberate attitude shows their willingness to continue to stand up to see everything from above, and, at the same time, to touch earthly contingencies only as much as is strictly necessary. This self-centered position is quickly exhausting.

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- What is your secret to success? - Offer good honey to the right fly at the right time and in the right place.

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I have already said, when I met him, that Freud's skull looked like a Burgundy snail. The consequence is obvious: if you want to eat your thought you have to take it out with a needle. Then it comes out all of it.

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In fact, one of the most deeply rooted notions in the human mind, the meaning of right and left, has completely lost its way and blurred among our contemporaries.
...
Do we know today how to distinguish our right hand from our left hand? No, my dear viscount, we are strictly incapable of it! When I was young, it was still possible, in the presence of a major event, to form an opinion on it, depending on the ideology of the political party to which one belonged. But that is no longer possible today: you read in the newspaper something sensational, vital, decisive news... well, you have no way of knowing whether it is a good thing or a bad thing until the specialists of your political party have examined it and decided for you. Otherwise, you run the risk of being ridiculed by reaching conclusions the next day that are exactly the same as those of your worst political opponents!

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Criticism is a sublime thing. She's only worthy of geniuses.

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Beauty will be edible or not.

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Don't be afraid of perfection, you will never achieve it.

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"Snobbery is about always being able to place yourself in places where others do not have access.

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In three days, I finished assimilating and digesting Nietzsche. Once this wildcat meal was over, I only had one detail left of the philosopher's personality, only one bone to gnaw at: his moustaches! Later, Federico Garcia Lorca, fascinated by Hitler's whiskers, proclaimed that "whiskers are the tragic constant in man's face". Even by the mustaches, I was going to surpass Nietzsche! Mine would not be depressing, catastrophic, overwhelmed by Wagnerian music and mists. No! They would be tapered, imperialist, ultra-rationalist and pointed to the sky, like vertical mysticism, like Spanish vertical unions.

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Don't be afraid of perfection. You'll never succeed!

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Salvador Dalí's Secret Life of Salvador Dalí
With a cancer, Proust manages to make music, while Dali, on the other hand, with music, manages to make a cancer.

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The only difference between a madman and me is that I am,

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"Cheerfulness of the sidereal shine, cheerfulness of cosmic cleanliness, compulsive maniacal cheerfulness to wash the inlavable, hyper-aesthetic rabid cheerfulness to reduce all the apartments of the world, all the pans of the world into a ball of an advanced mechanism. And she could have held in her giant hands this microcosm of the washable and performed the feat of polishing every corner of the already sanitized and sterilized intersections. And to polish, polish, polish, frenetically polish, polish again and again and again and more the unassailable. This time, the stupid reader will have understood me! Clean the esputnic.