Art evokes the mystery without which the world would not exist.

To be a surrealist means barring from your mind all remembrance of what you have seen, and being always on the lookout for what has never been.

Everyday objects shriek aloud.

Between words and objects one can create new relations and specify characteristics of language and objects generally ignored in everyday life.

I do not like money, either for itself or for what it can buy, since I want nothing we know about.

An object is not so attached to its name that we cannot find another one that would suit it better.

Life obliges me to do something, so I paint.

If the dream is a translation of waking life, waking life is also a translation of the dream.

The mind loves the unknown. It loves images whose meaning is unknown, since the meaning of the mind itself is unknown.

Everything we see hides another thing, we always want to see what is hidden by what we see.

This is not a pipe.

The present reeks of mediocrity and the atom bomb.

If the dream is a translation of waking life, waking life is also a translation of the dream.

We must not fear daylight just because it almost always illuminates a miserable world.

The mind loves the unknown. It loves images whose meaning is unknown, since the meaning of the mind itself is unknown.

Only thought can resemble. It resembles by being what it sees, hears, or knows; it becomes what the world offers it.

My painting is visible images which conceal nothing... they evoke mystery and indeed when one sees one of my pictures, one asks oneself this simple question What does that mean? It does not mean anything, because mystery means nothing either, it is unknowable.

Visible things can be invisible. However, our powers of thought grasp both the visible and the invisible – and I make use of painting to render thoughts visible.

What he imagines evokes nothing imaginary, it evokes the reality of the world that experience and reason treat in a confused manner.

We are surrounded by curtains. We only perceive the world behind a curtain of semblance. At the same time, an object needs to be covered in order to be recognized at all.

Everything we see hides another thing, we always want to see what is hidden by what we see, but it is impossible. Humans hide their secrets too well.

Art evokes the mystery without which the world would not exist.

Everything we see hides another thing, we always want to see what is hidden by what we see. There is an interest in that which is hidden and which the visible does not show us. This interest can take the form of a quite intense feeling, a sort of conflict, one might say, between the visible that is hidden and the visible that is present.

He is no longer the pretext for a story: the story itself renders him homage. The works of Fantomas can neither be destroyed nor accept modifications. ...Fantomas requires more of others than of himself ... He is never completely invisible. His likeness can be seen through his face. ... Fantomas's science is more precious than the word. It is not possible to guess it - and no one can doubt its power.

It is not my intention to make anything comprehensible. I am of the opinion that there are sufficient paintings which one understands after a shorter or longer delay, and that therefore some incomprehensible painting would now be welcome. I am at pains to deliver such, as far as possible.

As regards the artists themselves, most of them gave up their freedom quite lightly, placing their art at the service of someone or something. As a rule, their concerns and their ambitions are those of any old careerist. I thus acquired a total distrust of art and artists, whether they were officially recognised or were endeavouring to become so, and I felt that I had nothing in common with this guild. I had a point of reference which held me elsewhere, namely that magic within art which I had encountered as a child.

I despise my own past and that of others. I despise resignation, patience, professional heroism and all the obligatory sentiments. I also despise the decorative arts, folklore, advertising, radio announcers' voices, aerodynamics, the Boy Scouts, the smell of naphtha, the news, and drunks. I like subversive humor, freckles, women's knees and long hair, the laughter of playing children, and a girl running down the street. I hope for vibrant love, the impossible, the chimerical. I dread knowing precisely my own limitations.