I Believe In The Future Resolution Of

There Is No Use Being Alive If One Must Work. The Event From Which Each Of Us Is Entitled To Expect The Revelation Of His Own Life’s Meaning - That Event Which I May Not Yet Have Found, But On Whose Path I Seek Myself - Is Not Earned By Work.

The Simplest Surrealist Act Consists Of Dashing Down The Street, Pistol In Hand, And Firing Blindly, As Fast As You Can Pull The Trigger, Into The Crowd. Anyone Who, At Least Once In His Life, Has Not Dreamed Of Thus Putting An End To The Petty System Of Debasement And Cretinization In Effect Has A Well-defined Place In That Crowd With His Belly At Barrel-level.

No One Who Has Lived Even For A Fleeting Moment For Something Other Than Life In Its Conventional Sense And Has Experienced The Exaltation That This Feeling Produces Can Then Renounce His New Freedom So Easily.

How I Loathe The Servitude People Try To Hold Up To Me As Being So Valuable. I Pity The Man Who Is Condemned To It, Who Cannot Generally Escape It, But It Is Not The Burden Of His Labor That Disposes Me In His Favor, It Is - It Can Only Be - The Vigor Of His Protest Against It.

Words Make Love With One Another.