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Watch yourself all your life in a mirror and you'll see Death at work like bees in a glass hive.
Jean Cocteau
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Jean Cocteau
Age: 74 †
Born: 1889
Born: July 5
Died: 1963
Died: October 11
Actor
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Poet
Postage Stamp Designer
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Clément Eugène Jean Pierre Cocteau
Zhan Kokto
Eugène Jean Maurice Cocteau
Eugene Jean Maurice Cocteau
Jean Cocteau
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Hive
Death
Hives
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More quotes by Jean Cocteau
My only politics have been friendship.
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Tact in audacity is knowing how far you can go without going too far.
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The prettiest dresses are worn to be taken off.
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And now I have to confess the unpardonable and the scandalous. I am a happy man. And I am going to tell you the secret of my happiness. It is quite simple. I love mankind. I love love. I hate hate. I try to understand and accept.
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A prig always finds a last refuge in responsibility.
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Anything of any importance cannot help but be unrecognizable, since it bears no resemblance to anything already known.
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Poetry is a religion without hope. The poet exhausts himself in its service, knowing that, in the long run, a masterpiece is nothing but the performance of a trained dog on very shaky ground.
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There's no such thing as love only proof of love.
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Youth is certain what it rejects before it knows what it will accept.
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He has the manner of a giant with the look of a child, a lazy activeness, a mad wisdom, a solitude encompassing the world.
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I am burning myself up and will always do so.
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Celebrity: I picture myself as a marble bust with legs to run everywhere.
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The Louvre is a morgue you go there to identify your friends.
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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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The public only takes up yesterday as a stick to beat today.
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The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth.
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Expect neither reward nor beatitude. Return noble waves for ignoble.
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My little Renoirs. Matisse describes having seen Renoir make these tiny canvases. When he had finished working, he would use up the color left in his brushes on them.
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What uniform can I wear to hide my heavy heart? It is too heavy. It will always show.
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Poetry, being elegance itself, cannot hope to achieve visibility... It insists on living its own life.
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