Category: Jean Cocteau

Everything one does in life, even love, occurs in an express train racing toward death. To smoke opium is to get out of the train while it is still moving. It is to concern oneself with something other than life or death.

The day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying.

After the writer’s death, reading his journal is like receiving a long letter.

You’ve never seen death? Look in the mirror every day and you will see it like bees working in a glass hive.

Here I am trying to live, or rather, I am trying to teach the death within me how to live.

Since the day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying.