Everything one does in life, even love, occurs in an express train racing toward death. To smoke opium is to get out of the train while it is still moving. It is to concern oneself with something other than life… — Jean Cocteau Copy Share Image
What is history after all? History is facts which become lies in the end. — Jean Cocteau Copy Share Image
Love is mainly an affair of short spasms. If these spasms disappoint us, love dies. It is very seldom that it weathers the experience… — Jean Cocteau Copy Share Image
I believe in luck: how else can you explain the success of those you dislike? — Jean Cocteau Copy Share Image
Fight any instinct to be humorless, for humorlessness is the worst of all absurdities. — Jean Cocteau Copy Share Image
Lying is the only art form that the public sanctions and instinctively prefers to reality. — Jean Cocteau Copy Share Image
The dead drug leaves a ghost behind. At certain hours it haunts the house. — Jean Cocteau Copy Share Image
My method is simple: not to bother about poetry. It must come of its own accord. Merely whispering its name drives it away. — Jean Cocteau Copy Share Image
If a poet has a dream, it is not of becoming famous, but of being believed. — Jean Cocteau Copy Share Image
