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Jean Genet Biography

Jean Genet (French: [ʒɑ̃ ʒənɛ]; (1910-12-19)19 December 1910 – (1986-04-15)15 April 1986) was a French novelist, playwright, poet, essayist, and political activist. Early in his life he was a vagabond and petty criminal, but he later took to writing. His major works include the novels The Thief's Journal and Our Lady of the Flowers, and the plays The Balcony, The Maids and The Screens.

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Jean Genet Quotes

Prison, dungeons, blessed places where evil is impossible because they are the crossroads of all the evil in the world. One cannot commit evil in hell.

Blessed, Commit, Dungeons, Evil, Places

Poetry is the break (or rather the meeting at the breaking point) between the visible and the invisible.

Art, Invisible, Meeting, Poetry, Point, Point Break

It's a true image, born of a false spectacle.

Born, False, Image, Spectacle, True

I don't want to disappear.

Disappear, Want

If we behave like those on the other side, then we are the other side. Instead of changing the world, all we'll achieve is a reflection of the one we want to destroy.

Achieve, Behave, Reflection, Side, Want, World

on him, under him, with his mouth pressed to hers, he sang to her uncouth songs that moved through her body.

Body, Mouths, Sang, Song, Under

I decided to be what crime made of me.

Crime, Decided, Made

Ah those knock-out body fluids: blood, sperm, tears!

Blood, Body, Fluids, Tears

Violence is a calm that disturbs you.

Calm, Disturbs, Quiet, Violence

Creation is not a light-hearted game. The creator commits to a terrible adventure, which is to take up-on himself all of the dangers that his creatures run.

Adventure, Creation, Creatures, Light, Running, Terrible

Excluded by my birth and tastes from the social order, I was not aware of its diversity. Nothing in the world was irrelevant: the stars on a general's sleeve, the stock-market quotations, the olive harvest, the style of the judiciary, the wheat exchange, flower-beds. Nothing. This order, fearful and feared, whose details were all inter-related, had a meaning: my exile.

Details, Flower, Order, Stars, Tastes

We know that their adventures are childish. They themselves are fools. They are ready to kill or be killed over a card-game in which an opponent - or they themselves - was cheating. Yet, thanks to such fellows, tragedies are possible.

Adventure, Cheating, Childish, Games, Kill, Killed

Limited by the world, which I oppose, jagged by it, I shall be all the more handsome and sparkling as the angles which wound me and give me shape are more acute and the jagging more cruel.

Cruel, Giving, Shapes, Sparkling, World, Wound

She was happy, and perfectly in line with the tradition of those women they used to call "ruined," "fallen," feckless, bitches in heat, ravished dolls, sweet sluts, instant princesses, hot numbers, great lays, succulent morsels, everybody's darlings. . .

Instant, Numbers, Princess, Succulent, Sweet

There is a close relationship between flowers and convicts.

Convicts, Delicacy, Flower, Flowers, Fragility, Relationship

Would Hamlet have felt the delicious fascination of suicide if he hadn't had an audience, and lines to speak?

Fascination, Hamlet, Speak, Suicidal, Suicide

Though they may not always be handsome men doomed to evil posses the manly virtues.

Evil, Handsome, Manly, May, Men

The main object of a revolution is the liberation of man. . . not the interpretation and application of some transcendental ideology.

Ideology, Interpretation, Men, Rebellious, Revolution, Transcendental

They spent their time doing nothing. . . they let intimacy fuse them.

Doing Nothing, Fuse, Intimacy, Nothing

Beauty has no other origin than the singular wound, different in every case, hidden or visible, which each man bears within himself, which he preserves, and into which he withdraws when he would quit the world for a temporary but authentic solitude

Different, Men, Solitude, Withdraws, Wound

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