Jean Cocteau

Jean Maurice Eugène Clément Cocteau (5 July 1889 – 11 October 1963) French poet, novelist, painter, and filmaker.
Found 40 thoughts of Jean Cocteau

I love cats because I enjoy my home; and little by little, they become its visible soul.

Jean Cocteau

It is not I who become addicted, it is my body.

Jean Cocteau

Film will only became an art when its materials are as inexpensive as pencil and paper.

Jean Cocteau

If a hermit lives in a state of ecstasy, his lack of comfort becomes the height of comfort. He must relinquish it.

Jean Cocteau

Art is science made clear.

Jean Cocteau

One must be a living man and a posthumous artist.

Jean Cocteau

The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth.

Jean Cocteau

True realism consists in revealing the surprising things which habit keeps covered and prevents us from seeing.

Jean Cocteau

The extreme limit of wisdom-- that is what the public calls madness.

Jean Cocteau

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.

Jean Cocteau

In Paris, everybody wants to be an actor; nobody is content to be a spectator.

Jean Cocteau

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.

Jean Cocteau

Children and lunatics cut the Gordian knot which the poet spends his life patiently trying to untie.

Jean Cocteau

Asking an artist to talk about his work is like asking a plant to discuss horticulture.

Jean Cocteau

There are truths which one can only say after having won the right to say them.

Jean Cocteau

A true poet does not bother to be poetical. Nor does a nursery gardener scent his roses.

Jean Cocteau

Since the day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying.

Jean Cocteau

All good music resembles something. Good music stirs by its mysterious resemblance to the objects and feelings which motivated it.

Jean Cocteau

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.

Jean Cocteau

After the writer's death, reading his journal is like receiving a long letter.

Jean Cocteau

Mystery has its own mysteries, and there are gods above gods. We have ours, they have theirs. That is what's known as infinity.

Jean Cocteau

The poet never asks for admiration; he wants to be believed.

Jean Cocteau

The poet doesn't invent. He listens.

Jean Cocteau

Life is a horizontal fall.

Jean Cocteau

Silence moves faster when it's going backward.

Jean Cocteau
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