Author of quotes: Jean Cocteau. Page 1

If you're a celebrity, it is unpleasant that the people around you know, and absolutely terrible when you do not know.

From time to time to relax from idleness.

He clumsily killing time, which is expertly killed him.

The map of our lives is folded in such a way that we see one crossing the big road, but every time a new track with each new turn of the cards. It seems to us that we choose and we have no choice.

The verb "to love" is difficult to conjugate: the past tense - a complex, present - indicative, and future - is always conditional.

Whatever class we went, all of us together life on the same great speed, in the same train hurtling toward death. The wiser thing would be to sleep all the way to this final station. But alas, the drive fascinates us and we are so imbued with excessive interest in what should be only to help us pass the time on the last day, it is difficult to put your suitcase.

Cruel heart... Callous. Heart, too, is fashion. Now it is no longer in Vogue. Your generation it "not wearing".

I love you, he repeated, - and for me to love you - happiness.

The sun is an experienced lover who knows his business. He first of all you aglaiae his strong hands. Hugs. Covers, tilt, and suddenly Wake up as I am, sometimes, overwhelmed, with my stomach and irrigated drops like the berries of mistletoe.

The privileges of beauty are immeasurable. It works even for those who are seemingly up to it and do not care.

Virtuosos do not serve the music; they make it serve their own.

Even the greatest masterpiece of literature is only given in a mess of vocabulary.

For critics a masterpiece - a work that can be something to compare, which has the appearance of a masterpiece. However, the true masterpiece is not. He definitely bow-legged, ugly, it's all wrong, but at the time it triumphed errors and canonized the flaws and make it a masterpiece.

What is not comparable, it is discouraging. Comparison is the basis of the mechanism of fun. Sometimes the work that satisfies us because it reminds of something separee before in the soul. But our own novelty, which do not rely on that memory, beats beneath the feet of the ground, puts separate from the whole world.