There is only one difference between a madman and myself. The madman thinks he is sane. I know I am mad.
God is just another artist, like me.
Knowing how to look is a way of inventing.
It is mostly with your blood, Gala that I paint my pictures.
We are all hungry and thirsty for concrete images.
Physiological expenditure is a superficial way of self-expression. People who incline toward physical love accomplish nothing at all.
Many people do not reach their eighties because they spend too much time in their forties.
I think that the sweetest freedom for a man on earth consists in being able to live, if he likes, without having the need to work.
The daily life of a genius, his sleep, his digestion, he ecstasies, his nails, his colds, his blood, his life and death are essentially different from the rest of mankind.
For me, love must be ugly, looks must be divine, and death must be beautiful.
I dedicate this novel to Gala, who was constantly by my side while I was writing it, who was the good fairy of my equilibrium, who banished the salamanders of my doubts and strengthened the lions of certainties...
When I paint, the Sea Roars Others Splash about in the bath.
Dali was Renaissance man converted to psychoanalysis.
Since man’s highest mission on earth is to spiritualize everything, it is his excrement in particular that needs it most.
Right now I’m the greatest. I don’t say this through vanity. It’s just that the rest are so bad.
The reason some portraits don’t look true to life is that some people make no effort to resemble their pictures.
I worry about another leg down in the economies causing social disruption because deleveragings can be very painful – it depends on how they’re managed.
All of my knowledge, of both science and religion, I incorporate into the classical tradition of my painting.
Paranoiac-critical activity makes the world of delirium pass onto the plane of reality...
If I’m going to be anything more than average, if anyone is going to remember me, then I need to go further, in art, in life, in everything!
Who knows how to taste wine never drinks wine again, but tastes secrets instead.