Beauty makes one lose one's head. Poetry is born of this decapitation — Jean Cocteau Copy Share Image
“Poetry is a machine that manufactures love. Its other virtues escape me.” — Jean Cocteau Copy Share Image
I'm not willing just to be tolerated. That wounds my love of love and of liberty. — Jean Cocteau Copy Share Image
The eyes of the dead are closed gently; we also have to open gently the eyes of the living. — Jean Cocteau Copy Share Image
And now I have to confess the unpardonable and the scandalous. I am a happy man. And I am going to tell… — 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
“Writing is an act of love. If it is not it is only handwriting. It consists in obeying the driving force of… — 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… — Jean Cocteau Copy Share Image
I love cats because I enjoy my home; and little by little, they become its visible soul. — Jean Cocteau Copy Share Image
The poet Paul Éluard says that to understand my film version of Beauty and the Beast, you must love your dog more… — Jean Cocteau Copy Share Image
“Art according to art! Love according to love! This is taking the salt away from Heaven. Do you think Our Savior tries… — 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
