Lautréamont was of the opinion that nothing on earth is comprehensible. Absurdity and disgust are simply pimientos, condiments that provoke men and urge them on to a wider choice. The result is a wider knowledge of things, or at least the illusion that this knowledge is deepening. If you take a close look, however, absurdity doesn’t exist.
Ever since the days when I was a babe in arms, the moment anyone spoke to me about death as an inevitable event, I have always shouted, “Lies!” I’ve always felt that in the last minute everything would work out. And I haven’t changed my mind. If I believed in death, in the traditional sense of the word, that is to say, in decay and nothingness, I would start trembling like a leaf, and anxiety would keep me from swallowing anything. But that’s not my belief at all.
ALAIN BOSQUET: Dalí conversations
