Let My Enemies Devour Each Other.

You Know The Worst Thing Is Freedom. Freedom Of Any Kind Is The Worst For Creativity. You Know, Dali Spent Two Months In Jail In Spain, And These Two Months Were The Most Enjoyable And Happy In My Life. Before My Jail Period, I Was Always Nervous, Anxious. I Didn't Know If I Should Make A Drawing, Or Perhaps Make A Poem, Or Go To The Movies Or The Theatre, Or Catch A Girl, Or Play With The Boys. The People Put Me In Jail, And My Life Became Divine. Tremendous!

I Was Never Capable Of Being An Average Pupil. I Would Either Seem Refractory To Any Teaching And Give The Impression Of Being Completely Dumb Or I Would Fling Myself On My Work With A Frenzy, A Patience, And A Willingness To Learn That Astonished Everybody. But To Awaken My Zeal, It Was Necessary To Offer Me Something I Liked. Once My Appetite Had Been Whetted, I Became Ravenously Hungry.

The First Man To Compare The Cheeks Of A Young Woman To A Rose Was Obviously A Poet; The First To Repeat It Was Possibly An Idiot.

I Am Not Strange. I Am Just Not Normal.

Sometimes I Spit On My Mother's Portrait For Pleasure.