May Night Continue To Fall Upon The

Psychic Automatism In Its Pure State, By Which One Proposes To Express - Verbally, By Means Of The Written Word, Or In Any Other Manner - The Actual Functioning Of Thought. Dictated By The Thought, In The Absence Of Any Control Exercised By Reason, Exempt From Any Aesthetic Or Moral Concern.

Dada Is A State Of Mind.

I Am The Soul In Limbo.

Of All Those Arts In Which The Wise Excel, Nature's Chief Masterpiece Is Writing Well.

I Believe In The Pure Surrealist Joy Of The Man Who, Forewarned That All Others Before Him Have Failed, Refused To Admit Defeat, Sets Off From Watever Point He Chooses, Along Any Other Pat Save A Reasonable One, And Arrives Wherever He Can.