Louis Aragon
French poet
| Date of Birth | : | 03 Oct, 1897 |
| Date of Death | : | 24 Dec, 1982 |
| Place of Birth | : | Paris, France |
| Profession | : | Poet |
| Nationality | : | French |
Louis Aragon was a French poet, novelist, and essayist who was a political activist and spokesperson for communism.
Through the Surrealist poet André Breton, Aragon was introduced to avant-garde movements such as Dadaism. Together with Philippe Soupault, he and Breton founded the Surrealist review Littérature (1919). Aragon’s first poems, Feu de joie (1920; “Bonfire”) and Le Mouvement perpétuel (1925; “Perpetual Motion”), were followed by a novel, Le Paysan de Paris (1926; The Nightwalker). In 1927 his search for an ideology led him to the French Communist Party, with which he was identified thereafter, as he came to exercise a continuing authority over its literary and artistic expression.
Quotes
Total 20 Quotes
We know that the nature of genius is to provide idiots with ideas twenty years later.
There are strange flowers of reason to match each error of the senses. Admirable gardens of absurd beliefs, forebodings, obsessions and frenzies. Unknown, ever-changing gods take shape there.
It sometimes happens that pleasure blows anywhere it damn well chooses.
Language was not given to man: he seized it.
Of all possible sexual perversions, religion is the only one to have ever been scientifically systematized. Louis Aragon
For each man there awaits a particular image capable of annihilating the entire universe.
Geniuses are like ocean liners: they should never meet.
The painting of tomorrow will use the photographic eye as it has used the human eye.
Photography intervenes in a very strange way. It makes the streets, gates, squares of the city into illustrations of a trashy novel, draws off the banal obviousness of this ancient architecture to inject it with the most pristine intensity.
What on earth is modern exegesis up to? Oh, little lazy one! Some red wine and up! Off you go, brandishing your fork, stripped of Ophelia's useless ornaments, fire in your large nostrils, out to rake the muck of metaphors.
