It is hard not to see into the future, faced with today's blind architecture - a thousand times more stupid and more revolting than that of other ages. How bored we shall be inside!

— André Breton

It is more or less a given that nothing is less favorable to clairvoyance than the bright sun: physical light and mental light coexist on very poor terms.

— André Breton

Keep reminding yourself that literature is one of the saddest roads that leads to everything.

— André Breton

Life’s greatest gift is the freedom it leaves you to step out of it whenever you choose.

— André Breton

Love is when you meet someone who tells you something new about yourself.

— André Breton

May night continue to fall upon the orchestra

— André Breton

My wife with the hair of a wood fire With the thoughts of heat lightning With the waist of an hourglass With the waist of an otter in the teeth of a tiger My wife with the lips of a cockade and of a bunch of stars of the last magnitude With the teeth of tracks of white mice on the white earth With the tongue of rubbed amber and glassy wife with the tongue of a stabbed host With the tongue of a doll that opens and closes its eyes With the tongue of an unbelievable stone My wife with the eyelashes of strokes of a child's writing With brows of the edge of a swallow's nest My wife with the brow of slates of a hothouse roof And of steam on the panes My wife with shoulders of champagne And of a fountain with dolphin-heads beneath the ice My wife with wrists of matches My wife with fingers of luck and ace of hearts With fingers of mown hammy wife with armpits of marten and of beechnut And of Midsummer Night Of privet and of an angelfish nest With arms of sea foam and of riverlocksAnd of a mingling of the wheat and the Milly wife with legs of flares With the movements of clockwork and despair My wife with calves of elder tree pithy wife with feet of initials With feet of rings of keys and Java sparrows drinking My wife with a neck of unpaired barley My wife with a throat of the valley of gold Of a tryst in the very bed of the torrent With breasts of nightly wife with breasts of a marine molehill My wife with breasts of the ruby's crucible With breasts of the rose's specter beneath the Dewey wife with the belly of an unfolding of the fan of days With the belly of a gigantic clammy wife with the back of a bird fleeing vertically With a back of quicksilver With a back of light With a nape of rolled stone and wet chalk And of the drop of a glass where one has just been drinking My wife with hips of a skiff With hips of a chandelier and of arrow-feathers And of shafts of white peacock plumes Of an insensible pendulum My wife with buttocks of sandstone and asbestos My wife with buttocks of swans' backs My wife with buttocks of spring With the sex of an iris My wife with the sex of a mining-placer and of a platypus My wife with a sex of seaweed and ancient sweetmeat My wife with a sex of mirror My wife with eyes full of tears With eyes of purple panoply and of a magnetic needle My wife with savanna eyes My wife with eyes of water to the has drunk in prison My wife with eyes of wood always under the axe My wife with eyes of water-level of level of air earth and fire

— André Breton

My wish is that you may be loved to the point of madness.

— André Breton

Nothing that surrounds us is object, all is subject.

— André Breton

Past and future monopolize the poet’s sensory and intellectual faculties, detached from the immediate spectacle. These two filters become utterly clear the moment one stops being hypnotized by the cloudy precipitate constituted by the world of today.

— André Breton