Quote

Childhood is the world of miracle and wonder as if creation rose, bathed in the light, out of the darkness, utterly new and fresh and astonishing. The end of childhood is when things cease to astonish us.

Eugene Ionesco

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Eugene Ionesco
Age: 84 †
Born: 1909
Born: November 26
Died: 1994
Died: March 28
Diarist
Dramatist
Graphic Artist
Illustrator
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Writer
Stanwood
Washington
Ionesco
Eugen Ionesco
Eugene Ionesco
Ends
Fresh
Light
Cease
Children
Rose
Things
Miracle
World
Childhood
Astonish
Darkness
Bathed
Creation
Astonishing
Wonder
Utterly

More quotes by Eugene Ionesco

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To become conscious of what is horrifying and to laugh at it is to become master of that which is horrifying
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It's only when I say that everything is incomprehensible that I come as close as possible to understanding the only thing it is given to us to understand.
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The Arts are man's most useless ... and essential ... activity.
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Mediocrity is more dangerous in a critic than in a writer.
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It is not the answer that enlightens, but the question.
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I personally would like to bring a tortoise onto the stage, turn it into a racehorse, then into a hat, a song, a dragoon and a fountain of water. One can dare anything in the theatre and it is the place where one dares the least.
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We are made to be immortal, and yet we die. It's horrible, it can't be taken seriously
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Logic is a very beautiful thing. As long as it is not abused.
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I am told, in a dream you can only get the answer to all your questions through a dream. So in my dream, I fall asleep, and I dream, in my dream, that I'm having that absolute, revealing dream.
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Realism falls short of reality. It shrinks it, attenuates it, falsifies it it does not take into account our basic truths and our fundamental obsessions: love, death, astonishment. It presents man in a reduced and estranged perspective. Truth is in our dreams, in the imagination.
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The human comedy does not attract me enough. I am not entirely of this world. I am from elsewhere, and it is worth finding this elsewhere beyond the walls...but where is it?
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We are all looking for something of extraordinary importance whose nature we have forgotten I am writing the memoirs of a man who has lost his memory.
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God is dead. Marx is dead. And I don't feel so well myself.
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The light of memory, or rather the light that memory lends to things, is the palest light of all. I am not quite sure whether I am dreaming or remembering, whether I have lived my life or dreamed it. Just as dreams do, memory makes me profoundly aware of the unreality, the evanescence of the world, a fleeting image in the moving water.
Eugene Ionesco
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A nose that can see is worth two that sniff.
Eugene Ionesco
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We have not the time to take our time.
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All cats die. Socrates is dead. Therefore Socrates is a cat.
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You've always made the mistake of being yourself.
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I long for solitude and yet I cannot stand it.
Eugene Ionesco
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Explanation separates us from astonishment, which is the only gateway to the incomprehensible.
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