The Imaginary Is What Tends To Become

A Work Of Art Has Value Only If Tremors Of The Future Run Through It.

It Was In The Black Mirror Of Anarchism That Surrealism First Recognised Itself.

There Is Nothing With Which It Is So Dangerous To Take Liberties As Liberty Itself.

The Pure Playfulness Of Certain Wholly Whimsical Portions Of (charles) Cros’s Work Should Not Obscure The Fact That At The Center Of Some Of His Most Beautiful Poems A Revolver Is Leveled Straight At Us.

The Clouds Were Disappearing Rapidly, Leaving The Stars To Die. The Night Dried Up.