Books And Harlots Have Their Quarrels In

Not To Find One’s Way Around A City Does Not Mean Much. But To Lose One’s Way In A City, As One Loses One’s Way In A Forest, Requires Some Schooling.

Boredom Is The Dream Bird That Hatches The Egg Of Experience. A Rustling In The Leaves Drives Him Away.

Our Image Of Happiness Is Indissolubly Bound Up With The Image Of The Past.

Painting, By Its Nature, Cannot Provide An Object Of Simultaneous Collective Reception... As Film Is Able To Do Today... And While Efforts Have Been Made To Present Paintings To The Masses In Galleries And Salons, This Mode Of Reception Gives The Masses No Means Of Organizing And Regulating Their Response. Thus, The Same Public Which Reacts Progressively To A Slapstick Comedy Inevitably Displays A Backward Attitude Toward Surrealism.

Only He Who Can View His Own Past As An Abortion Sprung From Compulsion And Need Can Use It To Full Advantage In The Present. For What One Has Lived Is At Best Comparable To A Beautiful Statue Which Has Had All Its Limbs Knocked Off In Transit, And Now Yields Nothing But The Precious Block Out Of Which The Image Of One's Future Must Be Hewn.