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Home Page » Categories » Surrealism

Everything tends to make us believe that there exists a certain point of the mind at which life and death, the real and the imagined, past and future, the communicable and the incommunicable, high and...

André Breton
Everything tends to make us believe that there exists a certain point of the mind at which life and death, the real and the imagined, past and future, the communicable and the incommunicable, high and low, cease to be perceived as contradictions.

Time slowed as metal shards enveloped her like shattered glass. None pierced her of course, but it seemed as though she might be able to reach out and pluck one from the sky. She settled for...

G.S. Jennsen Vertigo
Time slowed as metal shards enveloped her like shattered glass. None pierced her of course, but it seemed as though she might be able to reach out and pluck one from the sky. She settled for stretching out an imagined hand, palm upturned, and letting a shard fall through it untouched like the ghost she had become.

The dead steps down from the guillotine, carrying under his arm his sacrificed head. Apple trees are in blossom. The dead makes his way to the village tavern, and everyone watches. There, he pulls a...

Charles Simic The World...
The dead steps down from the guillotine, carrying under his arm his sacrificed head. Apple trees are in blossom. The dead makes his way to the village tavern, and everyone watches. There, he pulls a chair and sits beside a table, ordering two bottles of beer, one for himself and one for his head. My mother wipes her hands on her apron and goes to serve him. The world is so quiet. One can hear the river, which sometimes forgets in its hurried flow, and runs backward.

The pink sun tumbled from the sky like a shooting star, turning day to night in the space of a trembling breath. What rose in its place was a moon made of rotting meat, its vast surface pitted with...

Craig Schaefer The Living End
The pink sun tumbled from the sky like a shooting star, turning day to night in the space of a trembling breath. What rose in its place was a moon made of rotting meat, its vast surface pitted with crawling black mold, glowing in a starless sky.

I looked at the Pinocchio clock, and gave it Stan Laurel. "Isn't this a fine development?" Pinocchio's eyes went from side to side, but he didn't say anything. He never does.

Robert Crais Indigo Slam
I looked at the Pinocchio clock, and gave it Stan Laurel. "Isn't this a fine development?" Pinocchio's eyes went from side to side, but he didn't say anything. He never does.

Iff replied that the Plentimaw Fishes were what he called 'hunger artists' - 'Because when they are hungry they swallow stories through every mouth, and in their innards miracles occur; a little bit...

Salman Rushdie Haroun and the...
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Today Birthdays

1925 - Frantz Fanon 1974 - Franklin Foer 1919 - Edmund Hillary 1938 - Natalie Wood 1980 - Gisele Bundchen 1964 - Chris Cornell 1947 - Carlos Santana 1936 - Barbara Mikulski 1938 - Diana Rigg 1953 - Thomas Friedman 1934 - M. Stanton Evans 1939 - Judy Chicago 1966 - Anton du Beke 1977 - Tim Ferriss 1975 - Judy Greer 1996 - Ben Simmons 1932 - Otto Schily 1993 - Steven Adams 1945 - Larry Craig
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Dual-Language Quotes That Speak to the Heart | QuoteSweet Discover the beauty of bilingual quotes at QuoteSweet.com. Inspiring words in multiple languages to motivate and connect. 🌍✨
 
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