All My Life, My Heart Has Yearned

It Was In The Black Mirror Of Anarchism That Surrealism First Recognised Itself.

For Me, The Single Word "god" Suggests Everything That Is Slippery, Shady, Squalid, Foul, And Grotesque.

The Eye Is Not Open When It Is Limited To The Passive Role Of A Mirror... If It Has Only The Capacity To Reflect.

Of All Those Arts In Which The Wise Excel, Nature's Chief Masterpiece Is Writing Well.

Over And Above The Various Prejudices I Acknowledge, The Affinities I Feel, The Attractions I Succumb To, The Events Which Occur To Me And To Me Alone- Over And Above A Sum Of Movements I Am Conscious Of Making, Of Emotions I Alone Experience- I Strive, In Relation To Other Men, To Discover The Nature, If Not The Necessity, Of My Difference From Them. Is It Not Precisely To The Degree I Become Conscious Of This Difference That I Shall Recognize What I Alone Have Been Put On This Earth To Do, What Unique Message I Alone May Bear, So That I Alone Can Answer For Its Fate?