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The joy of youth is to disobey but the trouble is that there are no longer any orders.

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
Disobey
Orders
Obedience
Youth
Longer
Joy
Trouble
Order

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Since the day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying.
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Tact in audacity is knowing how far you can go without going too far.
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It is not I who become addicted, it is my body.
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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.
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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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The artist is a kind of prison from which the works of art escape.
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French people are Italian people in a bad mood.
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The greatest masterpiece in literature is only a dictionary out of order.
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I am burning myself up and will always do so.
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Poetry is a religion without hope, but its martyrs guarantee the eternal truth of its dogma.
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Victor Hugo was a madman who thought he was Victor Hugo
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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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I have a piece of great and sad news to tell you: I am dead.
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May the devil himself splatter you with dung.
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The only work of art which succeeds is that which fails.
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The course of a river is almost always disapproved of by the source.
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The poet is at the disposal of the night. His role is humble, he must clean house and await its due visitation.
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Mirrors should reflect a little before throwing back images.
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The world owes its enchantment to these curious creatures and their fancies but its multiple complicity rejects them. Thistledown spirits, tragic, heartrending in their evanescence, they must go blowing headlong to perdition.
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