JEAN COCTEAU

Style is a simple way of saying complicated things.

Poets don't draw. They unravel their handwriting and then tie it up again, but differently.

True realism consists in revealing the surprising things which habit keeps covered and prevents us from seeing.

The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth.

There is always a period when a man with a beard shaves it off. This period does not last. He returns headlong to his beard.

Life is a horizontal fall.

Film will only became an art when its materials are as inexpensive as pencil and paper.

There are too many souls of wood not to love those wooden characters who do indeed have a soul.

Since the day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying.

Emotion resulting from a work of art is only of value when it is not obtained by sentimental blackmail.

Mystery has its own mysteries, and there are gods above gods. We have ours, they have theirs. That is what's known as infinity.

An artist cannot speak about his art any more than a plant can discuss horticulture.

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.

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.

Tact in audacity is knowing how far you can go without going too far.

One must be a living man and a posthumous artist.

I believe in luck: how else can you explain the success of those you dislike?

An original artist is unable to copy. So he has only to copy in order to be original.

Art is a marriage of the conscious and the unconscious.

You've never seen death? Look in the mirror every day and you will see it like bees working in a glass hive.

When a work appears to be ahead of its time, it is only the time that is behind the work.

Man seeks to escape himself in myth, and does so by any means at his disposal. Drugs, alcohol, or lies. Unable to withdraw into himself, he disguises himself. Lies and inaccuracy give him a few moments of comfort.

I am a lie who always speaks the truth.

If a hermit lives in a state of ecstasy, his lack of comfort becomes the height of comfort. He must relinquish it.

Silence moves faster when it's going backward.