The day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying. — Jean Cocteau Copy Share Image
Here I am trying to live, or rather, I am trying to teach the death within me how to live. — Jean Cocteau Copy Share Image
Since the day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying. — Jean Cocteau Copy Share Image
You've never seen death? Look in the mirror every day and you will see it like bees working in a glass hive. — Jean Cocteau Copy Share Image
A child's reaction to this type of calamity is twofold and extreme. Not knowing how deeply, powerfully, life drops anchor into its… — Jean Cocteau Copy Share Image
I only fear the death of others. For me, true death is that of the people I love — Jean Cocteau Copy Share Image
After the writer's death, reading his journal is like receiving a long letter. — Jean Cocteau Copy Share Image
“Classifiable things reek of death. You must strike out in other spheres . . . quit the ranks. That's the sign of… — Jean Cocteau Copy Share Image
Everything one does in life, even love, occurs in an express train racing toward death. To smoke opium is to get out… — 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
