Andre Breton

(19 February 1896 – 28 September 1966 / Normandy)

Andre Breton
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a French writer and poet. He is known best as the founder of Surrealism. His writings include the first Surrealist Manifesto (Manifeste du surréalisme) of 1924, in which he defined surrealism as "pure psychic automatism".


Born to a family of modest means in Tinchebray (Orne) in Normandy, he studied medicine and psychiatry. During World War I he worked in a neurological ward in Nantes, where he met the devotee of Alfred Jarry, Jacques Vaché, whose anti-social attitude and disdain for established artistic tradition influenced Breton considerably. Vaché committed suicide at age 24, and his war-time letters to Breton and others were published in a volume... more »

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  • ''Nothing retains less of desire in art, in science, than this will to industry, booty, possession.''
    André Breton (1896-1966), French surrealist. Mad Love, ch. 3 (1937, trans. 1987).
  • The work of art, just like any fragment of human life considered in its deepest meaning, seems to me devoid of value if it does not offer the hardness, the rigidity, the regularity, the luster on ever...
    André Breton (1896-1966), French surrealist. Mad Love, ch. 1 (1937, trans. 1987).
  • ''It is living and ceasing to live that are imaginary solutions. Existence is elsewhere.''
    André Breton (1896-1966), French Surrealist. repr. In Manifestoes of Surrealism (1969). Manifesto of Surrealism (1924).
  • ''Perhaps I am doomed to retrace my steps under the illusion that I am exploring, doomed to try and learn what I should simply recognize, learning a mere fraction of what I have forgotten.''
    André Breton (1896-1966), French surrealist. Nadja (1928).
  • ''Beauty will be CONVULSIVE or will not be at all.''
    André Breton (1896-1966), French surrealist. Nadja (1928).
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Best Poem of Andre Breton

Freedom Of Love

(Translated from the French by Edouard Rodti)

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 glass
My 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 ...

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