Words Make Love With One Another.

Beauty Is Like A Train That Ceaselessly Roars Out Of The Gare De Lyon And Which I Know Will Never Leave, Which Has Not Left. It Consists Of Jolts And Shocks, Many Of Which Do Not Have Much Importance, But Which We Know Are Destined To Produce One Shock, Which Does...the Human Heart, Beautiful As A Seismograph...beauty Will Be Convulsive Or Will Not Be At All.

The Art Of Frida Kahlo Is A Ribbon Around A Bomb.

To Reduce The Imagination To A State Of Slavery --even Though It Would Mean The Elimination Of What Is Commonly Called Happiness --is To Betray All Sense Of Absolute Justice Within Oneself. Imagination Alone Offers Me Some Intimation Of What Can Be.

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

It Is The Whole Modern Concept Of Love Which Should Be Re-examined, Such As Is Commonly But Transparently Expressed In Phrases Like 'love At First Sight' And 'honeymoon'. All This Shoddy Terminology Is On Top Of That Tainted With The Most Reactionary Irony.