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May the devil himself splatter you with dung.
Jean Cocteau
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Jean Cocteau
Age: 74 †
Born: 1889
Born: July 5
Died: 1963
Died: October 11
Actor
Composer
Designer
Film Director
Illustrator
Librettist
Novelist
Painter
Photographer
Playwright
Poet
Postage Stamp Designer
Prosaist
Clément Eugène Jean Pierre Cocteau
Zhan Kokto
Eugène Jean Maurice Cocteau
Eugene Jean Maurice Cocteau
Jean Cocteau
Splatter
Dung
Devil
May
More quotes by Jean Cocteau
Children and lunatics cut the Gordian knot which the poet spends his life patiently trying to untie.
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After the writer's death, reading his journal is like receiving a long letter.
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The joy of youth is to disobey but the trouble is that there are no longer any orders.
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True realism consists in revealing the surprising things which habit keeps covered and prevents us from seeing.
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Poetry is a religion without hope, but its martyrs guarantee the eternal truth of its dogma.
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A film is a petrified fountain of thought.
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The worst tragedy for a poet is to be admired through being misunderstood.
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And history becomes legend and legend becomes history.
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Art produces ugly things which frequently become more beautiful with time. Fashion, on the other hand, produces beautiful things which always become ugly with time.
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Beauty cannot be recognized with a cursory glance.
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Everything one does in life, even love, occurs in an express train racing toward death. To smoke opium is to get out of the train while it is still moving. It is to concern oneself with something other than life or death.
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We are in a period of such individualism that one no longer speaks of disciples one speaks of thieves.
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Film will only became an art when its materials are as inexpensive as pencil and paper.
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The hot hall full of painted girls and American soldiers is a saloon in some Western film. This noise drenches us, wakens us to do something else. It shows us a lost path.
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One of the characteristics of the dream is that nothing surprises us in it. With no regret, we agree to live in it with strangers, completely cut off from our habits and friends.
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In exiling myself I am not exiling a monster, but a man whom society will not allow to live, since it considers one of the mysterious cogs in God's masterpiece to be a mistake.
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The actual tragedies of life bear no relation to one's preconceived ideas. In the event, one is always bewildered by their simplicity, their grandeur of design, and by that element of the bizarre which seems inherent in them.
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You are always concentrated on the inner thing. The moment one becomes aware of the crowd, performs for the crowd, it is spectacle.
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I have never felt any connection with my family. There isI must say simplysomething in me that is not in my family. That was not visible in my father or mother. I do not know its origin.
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I feel myself inhabited by a force or being -- very little known to me. It gives the orders I follow.
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