The poet doesnt invent. He listens. – Jean Cocteau
The day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying. – Jean Cocteau
The poet doesnt invent. He listens. – Jean Cocteau
The day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying. – Jean Cocteau
Emotion resulting from a work of art is only of value when it is not obtained by sentimental blackmail. – Jean Cocteau
Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things. – T.S. Eliot, Tradition and the Individual Talent, 1919