Dali Quotes

“Everyone should eat hashish, but only once.”
― Salvador Dali

“I do not understand why, when I ask for grilled lobster in a restaurant, I'm never served a cooked telephone.”
― Salvador Dalí

“This grandiose tragedy that we call modern art.”
― Salvador Dalí

“Minutes passed by. A little blue butterfly landed on my nose. I blinked at it and it fluttered to my ear. A big yellow butterfly gently floated over and landed on my paw. Soon a whole swarm of them floated up and down around me, like a swirl of multicolored petals. It happened in my backyard, too, if the magic was strong enough. Butterflies were small and light, and very magic sensitive. For some reason I made them feel safe and they gravitated to me like iron shavings to a magnet. They ruined my ferocious badass image, but you’d have to be a complete beast to swat butterflies.

If a baby deer frolicked out from between the buildings trying to cuddle up, I would roar. I wouldn’t bite it, but I would roar. I had my limits.”
― Ilona Andrews, Hexed

“The one thing the world will never have enough of is the outrageous.”
― Salvador Dalí

“Look, he isn’t even concerned.”
I poured the tea. “He’s concerned, Mother. He just doesn’t panic, because he’s in charge and if he panics, everybody else will panic.”
“I can jog around the room pretending to scream if you would like,” Jim offered.”
― Ilona Andrews, Magic Dreams

“New skin, a new land! And a land of liberty, if that is possible! I chose the geology of a land that was new to me, and that was young, virgin, and without drama, that of America. I traveled in America, but instead of romantically and directly rubbing the snakeskin of my body against the asperities of its terrain, I preferred to peel protected within the armor of the gleaming black crustacean of a Cadillac which I gave Gala as a present. Nevertheless all the men who admire and the women who are in love with my old skin will easily be able to find its remnants in shredded pieces of various sizes scattered to the winds along the roads from New York via Pittsburgh to California. I have peeled with every wind; pieces of my skin have remained caught here and there along my way, scattered through that "promised land" which is America; certain pieces of this skin have remained hanging in the spiny vegetation of the Arizona desert, along the trails where I galloped on horseback, where I got rid of all my former Aristotelian "planetary notions." Other pieces of my skin have remained spread out like tablecloths without food on the summits of the rocky masses by which one reaches the Salt Lake, in which the hard passion of the Mormons saluted in me the European phantom of Apollinaire. Still other pieces have remained suspended along the "antediluvian" bridge of San Francisco, where I saw in passing the ten thousand most beautiful virgins in America, completely naked, standing in line on each side of me as I passed, like two rows of organ-pipes of angelic flesh with cowrie-shell sea vulvas.”
― Salvador Dalí, The Secret Life of Salvador Dalí

“My point is, I would never hurt you or your family.”
I raised my chin at him. “If you tried to hurt my mother, I would totally kick your ass.”
“Aha.”
“Yes. You would be lying on the ground, crying, ‘No more, no more,’ and I would be kicking you in the stomach, wham, wham, wham!”
He laughed softly.”
― Ilona Andrews, Hexed

“A rolled-up newspaper landed on my head and then on Jim’s. “None of that in my house!”
Oh my gods. The alpha of Clan Cat just got smacked with a rolled-up newspaper. “Mom!”
She pointed at me with the newspaper. “Do not shame me.”
I clamped my mouth shut. When she pulled out the shame card, it was all over.”
― Ilona Andrews, Magic Dreams

“Butterflies were small and light, and very magic sensitive. For some reason I made them feel safe and they gravitated to me like iron shavings to a magnet. They ruined my ferocious badass image, but you'd have to be a complete beast to swat butterflies.”
― Ilona Andrews, Magic Dreams

“Four shapeshifters are missing, the office smells like blood, you see some weird woman in a transparent gown who clearly shouldn't be in the building, and you run after her?"
"It's my job to run after her."
"Without backup?"
"I am the backup.”
― Ilona Andrews, Magic Dreams

“People looked at me, shocked.
I gave them a nice big smile. That's right, look what big teeth I have. I knew I was a vegetarian, but aside from Jim and a few friends, nobody else did. Besides, just because I didn't eat meat, didn't mean I wouldn't bite.”
― Ilona Andrews, Magic Dreams

“That's what dreams are really like, you know? They're not full of melting clocks or floating roses or people made out of rocks. Most of the time, dreams look just like the normal world. It's your feelings that tell you something's off. Not your mind, not your intellect, not something as obvious as that. The only part of you that really knows what's going on is the part of you that's most a mystery. If that's not Surrealism, I don't know what is.”
― Amy Reed, Crazy

“You want me to go back into that house protected by a magic sticky note?”
“Don’t even start,” I told him. “It’s working. If it weren’t working, you couldn’t drag me into that place.”
“What did you write on here? ‘Don’t die’?”
“No, I wrote, ‘Don’t be an a-hole!’” I headed for the house.
“On yours or mine?”
“On yours.”
“Well, in that case, your magic isn’t working. I’m still an asshole.”
― Ilona Andrews

“Quixote shines from Lorca and Picasso,
From Dalí and El Greco,
From the gloomy 'View of Toledo.'
He was born before Cervantes.”
― Dejan Stojanovic

“I didn't like Dali: now, like you, I do. Like you, I began to drink my Coke with a pinch of salt . Like you, I stopped bothering about ironed clothes. Like you, I sit with a dictionary while reading the papers. Like you, I sit on the compound wall after a bath.”
― Sachin Kundalkar, Cobalt Blue

“You need to neuter him. Otherwise he’ll spray all over the house. The stench is awful. And when he isn’t out catting around, little female cats in heat will show up and wail under the windows.”
Kill me, please. “He is a nice cat. He’s not like that.”
“It’s instinct, Dali. Before you know it, you’ll be running a feline whorehouse.”
― Ilona Andrews, Night Shift

“There was no sign of life round the domed emplacement of the Moonraker, and the concrete, already beginning to shimmer in the early morning sun, stretched emptily away towards Deal. It looked like a newly laid aerodome or rather, he thought, with its three disparate concrete 'things', the beehive dome,the flat-iron blast-wall, and the distant cube of the firing point, each casting black pools of shadow towards him in the early sun, like a Dali desert landscape in which three objets trouves reposed at carefully calculated random.”
― Ian Fleming, Moonraker

“Dalí painted melting clocks. I suppose if he'd asked around first, quizzed people if they wanted to see a picture of a melting clock, the answer might have been something obvious, like 'Clocks don't melt!' But, lucky for us, Salvador didn't care what anyone else thought. You use what moves you.”
― Laura Ruby

“Готовясь написать то, что следует ниже, я впервые прибегаю к помощи своих лакированных башмаков, которые никогд�� не мог носить подолгу, ибо они чудовищно жмут. Обычно я обувал их непосредственно перед началом какого‑нибудь публичного выступления. Порождаемая ими болезненная скованность ступней до предела подстегивает мои ораторские способности. Эта изощренная, сдавливающая боль заставляет меня петь не хуже соловья или какого‑нибудь уличного неаполитанского певца – кстати, они тоже носят слишком тесные башмаки. Идущее откуда‑то прямо из нутра острое физическое вожделение, нарастающая мучительная пытка, которые я испытываю благодаря своим лакированным башмакам, заставляют меня буквально извергаться словами возвышенной истины, до предела сжатой, концентрированной и обобщенной благодаря той верховной инквизиции боли, которую вызывают' лакированные башмаки в моих ступнях.”
― Salvador Dalí

“Siri ya mafanikio yako ni chumba chako. Dali linasema anga ndicho kipimo cha kufikiria; Dirisha linasema utazame nje uone fursa zilizopo ulimwenguni; Feni linasema uwe mtulivu usikurupuke kufanya lolote; Kalenda inasema uwe mtu anayekwenda na wakati; Kioo kinasema ujitazame na ujiamini kabla ya kutenda lolote; Kitabu cha dini kinasema unapaswa kumwamini Mungu ili uishi; Kitanda kinasema ujifunze kuwa na likizo; Mlango unasema usipitwe na fursa ya aina yoyote ile hapa duniani; Saa inasema kila sekunde ina thamani sana katika maisha yako hivyo tumia muda wako vizuri. Amka uishi.”
― Enock Maregesi

“Всю мою жизнь мне действительно было очень трудно свыкнуться с озадачивающей «нормальностью» существ, которые населяют мир. Я всегда говорил себе: ничто из того, что могло произойти, не происходит. Не могу понять, как это человеческие существа могут быть так мало индивидуализированны и всегда руководствуются самыми строгими законами приспосабливаемости. Возьмите такую простейшую вещь, как крушения поездов. Сколько тысяч железных дорог покрывают пять континентов — и так немного крушений. Тех, кто устраивают крушения, в тысячи раз меньше, чем тех, кто любит путешествовать по рельсам. Когда в Венгрии арестовали диверсанта Марушку, устраивавшего крушения поездов, это был сенсационный и уникальный случай. Не верю, что человек настолько лишен фантазии, чтобы у водителей автобусов время от времени не появлялось желание выбить витрину Присуник, чтобы на лету не выхватить несколько подарков для своих семей. Не понимаю, не могу понять, почему фабриканты бачков для спуска воды не вложат в их конструкцию бомбу, которая взрывалась бы, когда потянешь за цепочку. Мне не понять, почему все ванны одной формы. Почему бы не придумать страшно дорогие такси — почти как все, но с искусственным дождем внутри, чтобы путешественник надевал плащ, когда на улице прекрасная погода. Не понимаю, почему мне не приносят отварной телефон, когда я заказываю жаренного омара, почему охладиться в ведерке со льдом ставят шампанское, а не вечно теплых и липких телефонных абонентов. И почему бы не заворачивать в соболиные меха разбитые телефоны с зеленой мятой в форме омара с дохлой крысой внутри — прямо Эдгар По, почему бы не водить их на поводке или не ставить на спину живой черепахе… Поражает ослепление людей, всегда совершающих одно и то же. Меня также удивляет, почему служащий банка не съедает чек, мне удивительно, что художники раньше меня не додумались рисовать «мягкие часы»…”
― Salvador Dalí, The Secret Life of Salvador Dalí

“Как бы там ни было, в тот период я и в самом деле не был «нормальным». Впрочем, как определить для живого существа лимиты «нормальности» и «ненормальности»? Я говорю, что в 1929 году в Кадакесе я не был нормальным – и это означает, что это верно по отношению к сегодняшнему дню, когда я пишу книгу. Несомненно, я сделал огромные успехи, приспосабливаясь к действительности. Когда у меня появилась первая галлюцинация, я получал удовольствие от своей необычной психики и стимулировал свои «необычности». Каждое утро я немного поливал растение моего безумия, до тех пор, пока оно не стало цвести и давать плоды, которые чуть не пожрали мою жизнь, и так было до тех пор, пока я не понял, что пора уничтожить это растение, растоптать его каблуками, зарыть в землю и начать снова завоевывать свое «жизненное пространство». Девиз «безумие для безумия» я должен был за год сменить на «Обуздание безумия», который носил уже католический характер. Безумие открыло мне некоторые из своих секретов, которые я тщательно оберегал даже тогда, когда пристрастился к разрушительному его обузданию и пытался увлечь за собой всю группу сюрреалистов.”
― Salvador Dalí, The Secret Life of Salvador Dalí

“На заре я проснулся и, не умывшись, сел перед мольбертом, стоявшим в моей комнате рядом с кроватью. Первый образ сутра был - мое полотно, последнее,
что я видел перед сном. Я пытался уснуть, фиксируя его глазами, чтобы сохранить его очертания во время сна, и несколько раз посреди ночи вставал, чтобы на миг взглянуть на него в лунном свете. Или, проснувшись, включал свет, чтобы видеть изображение, которое меня не оставляло. Весь день, сидя, как медиум, перед мольбертом, я фиксировал полотно и видел, как появляются фрагменты моего собственного воображения. Когда изображение точно закреплялось в картине, я тут же рисовал его. Но иногда надо было ждать часами, бездельничая с неподвижной кистью в руке, прежде чем что-то появлялось. Бывали у меня и ложные изображения, я задыхался и недоумевал,
потом они рассеивались, и я говорил себе: "Ну что, теперь искупаемся?”
― Salvador Dalí, The Secret Life of Salvador Dalí

“Time melting like a Dali painting”
― Soroosh Shahrivar, Letter 19

“You'll have lived through heat waves by now, and you'll know that they make time go utterly Dali clocks.”
― Kaliane Bradley, The Ministry of Time

“It was Salvador Dalí who said the red wine of Cadaqués has the bitter taste of tears.”
― Clifford Thurlow, Sex Surrealism Dali & Me

“A dandy," wrote Charles Baudelaire, "must be looking in his mirror at all times, waking and sleeping." Dali could easily have become the living proof of Baudelaire's dictum. But the literal mirror was not enough for him. Dali needed mirrors of many kinds: his pictures, his admirers, newspapers and magazines and television. And even that still left him unsatisfied.

So one Christmas he took a walk in the streets of New York carrying a bell. He would ring it whenever he felt people were not paying enough attention to him. "The thought of not being recognised was unbearable." True to himself to the bitter end, he delighted in following Catalonian television's bulletins on his state of health during his last days alive (in Quiron hospital in Barcelona); he wanted to hear people talking about him, and he also wanted to know whether his health would revive or whether he would be dying soon. At the age of six he wanted to be a female cook - he specified the gender. At seven he wanted to be Napoleon. "Ever since, my ambition has been continually on the increase, as has my megalomania: now all I want to be is Salvador Dali. But the closer I get to my goal, the further Salvador Dali drifts away from me."

He painted his first picture in 1910 at the age of six. At ten he discovered Impressionist art, and at fourteen the Pompiers (a 19th century group of academic genre painters, among them Meissonier, Detaille and Moreau). By 1927 he was Dali, and the poet and playwright Federico Garcia Lorca, a friend of his youth, wrote an 'Ode to Salvador Dali.' Years later Dali claimed that Lorca had been very attracted to him and had tride to sodomize him, but had not quite managed it. Dali's thirst for scandal was unquenchable. His parents had named him Salvador "because he was the chosen one who was come to save painting from the" deadly menace of abstract art, academic Surrealism, Dadaism, and any kind of anarchic "ism" whatsoever."

If he had lived during the Renaissance, his genius would have been recognized at an earlier stage and indeed considered normal. But in the twentieth century, which Dali damned as stupid, he was thought provocative, a thorn in the flesh. To this day there are many who misunderstand the provocativeness and label him insane. But Dali repeatedly declared: "... the sole difference between me and a madman is the fact that I am not mad!" Dali also said: "The difference between the Surrealists and me is that I am a Surrealist" - which is perfectly true. And he also claimed: "I have the universal curiosity of Renaissance men, and my mental jaws are constantly at work.”
― Gilles Néret, Salvador Dalí: 1904-1989

“Salí a pasear con Salvador. Una tarde me propuso:
—Jeanne ¿no te inquieta saber si existe un más allá?
—Imagino que lo habrá
—Imaginar no sirve, es necesario SABERLO
—Si, tienes razón
Dalí se puso encantado con mi respuesta, tomó mis brazos con sus manos para mirarme fijamente en los ojos:
—Mira Jeanne, existe una manera de saberlo.
—¿Cuál?
—La muerte. Vamos a hacer un experimento, si estás de acuerdo, te mato ahora mismo y si hay un más allá, te me apereces y me lo confirmas.
—¡Estás loco! Mejor yo te mato a ti y tú te me apareces.
No le gustó la idea. Al final decidimos que el que muriera primero le avisaría al otro. Hace un año que murió y no se me ha aparecido: o se olvidó del pacto, o no hay nada más...”
― Jeanne Rucar De Bunuel, Memorias de una mujer sin piano

“But I was stuck for a long time by myself at Abraham Lincoln's portrait, standing in the middle of the huge hall as people moved all around me with mostly children. I felt as if time had stopped as I watched Lincoln, facing him, while watching the woman’s back as she was looking out the window. I felt wronged, so much like Truman from the movie, standing there in the middle of the museum alone. I was wondering what would Abraham Lincoln do if he realized he was the slave in his own cotton fields, being robbed by evil thieves, nazis.
I had taken numerous photos of Martina from behind, as well as silhouettes of her shadow. I remember standing there, watching as she stood in front of the window; it was almost as if she was admiring the view of the mountains from our new home, as I did take such pictures of her, with a very similar composition to that of the female depicted in the iconic Lincoln portrait looking outwards from the window. I hadn't realized how many photographs I snapped of Martina with her back turned towards me while we travelled to picturesque places. Fernanda and I walked side-by-side in utter silence, admiring painting after painting of Dali's, without exchanging a single word. Meanwhile, Luis and Martina had got lost somewhere in the museum. When I finally found her, she was taking pictures outside of the Rainy Cadillac. We both felt something was amiss without having to say it, as Fernanda knew things I didn't and vice versa. We couldn't bring ourselves to discuss it though, not because we lacked any legal authority between me and Martina, but because neither Fernanda or myself had much parental authority over the young lady. It felt like when our marriages and divorces had dissolved, it was almost as if our parenting didn't matter anymore. It was as if I were unwittingly part of a secret screenplay, like Jim Carrey's character in The Truman Show, living in a fabricated reality made solely for him. I was beginning to feel a strange nauseous feeling, as if someone was trying to force something surreal down my throat, as if I were living something not of this world, making me want to vomit onto the painted canvas of the personalised image crafted just for me. I couldn't help but wonder if Fernanda felt the same way, if she was aware of the magnitude of what was happening, or if, just like me, she was completely oblivious, occasionally getting flashes of truth or reality for a moment or two. I took some amazing photographs of her in Port Lligat in Dali's yard in the port, and in Cap Creus, but I'd rather not even try to describe them—they were almost like Dali's paintings which make all sense now. As if all the pieces are coming together. She was walking by the water and I was walking a bit further up on the same beach on pebbles, parallel to each other as we walked away from Dali's house in the port. I looked towards her and there were two boats flipped over on the two sides of my view.

I told her: “Run, Bunny! Run!”
― Tomas Adam Nyapi, BARCELONA MARIJUANA MAFIA