The invention of photography has dealt a mortal blow to the old modes of expression, in painting as well as in poetry, where automatic writing, which appeared at the end of the nineteenth century, is a true photography of thought.… — Andre Breton Copy Share Image
Of all the arts in which the wise excel, nature's chief masterpiece is writing well. — Andre Breton Copy Share Image
Under his (Marc Chagall, ed.) sole impulse metaphor made its triumphal entry into modern painting. — Andre Breton Copy Share Image
Psychic automatism in its pure state, by which one proposes to express -- verbally, by means of the written word, or in any other… — Andre Breton Copy Share Image
“Let us not mince words: The marvelous is always beautiful, anything marvelous is beauitful, in fact only the marvelous is beautiful” — Andre Breton Copy Share Image
“There has never been any forbidden fruit. Only temptation is divine. To feel the need to vary the object of this temptation, to replace… — André Breton Copy Share Image
“It was really a star, a star you were heading toward. You can't fail to reach it. Hearing you speak, I felt that nothing… — André Breton Copy Share Image
“All my life my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name.” andre breton” — andre breton Copy Share Image
“Unless you have been inside a sanitarium you do not know that madmen are made there, just as criminals are made in our reformatories.… — André Breton Copy Share Image
A game: say something. Close your eyes and say something. Anything, a number, a name. Like this (she closes her eyes): Two, two what?… — Andre Breton Copy Share Image
Past and future monopolize the poet’s sensory and intellectual faculties, detached from the immediate spectacle. These two philtres become utterly clear the moment one… — Andre Breton Copy Share Image
If I place love above everything, it is because for me it is the most desperate, the most despairing state of affairs imaginable. — Andre Breton Copy Share Image
Surrealism will usher you into death, which is a secret society. It will glove your hand, burying therein the profound M with which the… — Andre Breton Copy Share Image
