Raymond Queneau


French Poet and Novelist, Co-founder of Ouvroir de littérature potentielle (Oulipo)

Author Quotes

True stories deal with hunger, imaginary ones with love.

Untale walked away mentally calculating the square root of 123.456.789. To pass the time.

We come from all countries and go to the Sante Marie of the Sea, where every year we get together. Nomads of the riddle, we bring our mystery through the countryside and the cities inattonite fluid. Transfigured by our ambulazioni, we live with the contempt of what is still and the memory of the giant snakes and metallic green. "

When one made love to zero spheres embraced their arches and prime numbers caught their breath.

Why, he was saying, why should one not tolerate this life, since so little suffices to deprive one of it? So little brings it into being, so little brightens it, so little blights it, so little bears it away. Otherwise, who would tolerate the blows of fate and the humiliations of a successful career, the swindling of grocers, the prices of butchers, the water of milkmen, the irritation of parents, the fury of teachers, the bawling of sergeant-majors, the turpitude of the beasts, the lamentations of the dead-beats, the silence of infinite space, the smell of cauliflower or the passivity of the wooden horses on a merry-g0-round, were it not for his knowledge that the bad and proliferative behavior of certain minute cells (gesture) or the trajectory of a bullet traced by an involuntary, irresponsible, anonymous individual might unexpectedly come and cause all these cares to evaporate into the blue heavens.

You can imagine now opium smoker, alcoholic or ataxic, or with his wife and children who will go to the College in Melbourne or converted to the Catholic religion. This is of no importance. Besides, this story is absolutely boring. Luckily it's over. Whether you like it or not, I will fuck me.

There are animals that never get bored, said the dog, or individuals who have not strayed very far from the natural waist. But, by a deputy, it would surprise me.

There's as many fish in the sea as ever came out of it. Fright though you are, you won't have any trouble in hooking another boy-friend.

To be or anything, here's the problem. Climb, descend, go ahead; so does the man who eventually disappears. A taxi to the bears, a meter take him away, the tower does not mind, and even the Pantheon. Paris is just a dream, Gabriel is only a shadow (lovely), Zazie the dream of a shadow (or a nightmare) and this whole dream of a dream, the shadow of a shadow, a little more a delirium typed by a novelist idiot (oh excuse me). Over there, as well, a bit 'over, Place de la R‚publique, stacked tombs of the Parisians who were, who ascended and descended the stairs, came and went through the streets and did so much that eventually disappeared. A forceps introduced them, a hearse carrying them away and the tower will rust and the Pantheon crack sooner than the bones of the dead all too present not dissolve in the humus of city imbued with all troubles. But I'm alive, I, and my science stops here because of tassimane disappeared into his perch in meter or my niece suspended a thousand feet in the atmosphere or my wife, the gentle Marceline, remained at the domestic hearth, in this precise moment I do not know, and here I do not know, but this, endecasillabicamente: here they are almost dead because absent.

The first day I went there, sat down a little to chance; was before the war, in a time when you could still choose your own seat.

The Huns were preparing some steak tartare, the Gaul oise smoking a gitane, the Romans were drawing the Greeks, the Norsemen were snoring, the Francs were looking for their sooterkins, and the Carolingians were waiting to see whether anyone was concealing any Ossetians. The Normans were drinking calvados. 'So much history,' said the Duke of Auge to the Duke of Auge, 'so much history, just for a few puns and a few anachronisms. I think it's pathetic. Shan't we ever get away from it ?' Fascinated, it was some hours before he stopped watching these rejects refusing to disintegrate; then, for no apparent outward reason, he left his look-out post for the lower levels of the castle, indulging, as he went, his mood, which was bellicose.

The Lord has dreamily said the keeper of the night . - I'm not the type, said Pierrot. But I often do not think about anything. - It's already better than not to think at all, 'said the night porter. (From Pierrot mon ami )

The Odyssey is the story of someone who, in the course of diverse experiences, acquires a personality or affirms and recovers his personality.

The people are happy they do not have history. History is the science of man's unhappiness.

The poet is never inspired, because he is the master of that which appears to others as inspiration. He does not wait for inspiration to fall out of the heavens like roasted ortolans. He knows how to hunt...He is never inspired because he is unceasingly inspired, because the powers of poetry are always at his disposition, subjected to his will, submissive to his own activity...

The real story is that of the great inventions. They are the inventions ones that cause the story on the bottom of the statistical, biological and geographical. (With Batons, chiffres et lettres )

The really inspired person is never inspired: he's always inspired: he doesn't go looking for inspiration and he doesn't get up in arms about artistic technique.

The trees grew silent and the animal kingdom limited its presence to obscure and dumb acts.

The true poet is never found inspired is just above that that more and less equal in his eyes, which are the technical and inspiration; equal because both dominates perfectly. True never inspired inspired: it is always; not seek inspiration or rages against some technical.

The word ?potential? deals with the very nature of literature, that is to say, fundamentally, it is less a matter of literature strictly speaking as it is of supplying forms for the good use one can make of literature. We call potential literature the search for new forms and structures to be used by writers in any way they see fit.

There are also ideas in the form of cans of sardines: the puzzle, the houses, the dead languages and living languages.

Duca d'Auge sighed without interrupting the careful consideration of those phenomena worn.

Rules cease to exist once they have outlived their value, but forms live on eternally. There are forms of the novel which impose on the suggested topic all the virtues of the Number. Born of the very expression and of the diverse aspects of the tale, connected by nature with the guiding idea, daughter and mother of all the elements that it polarizes, a structure develops, which transmits to the works the last reflections of Universal Light and the last echoes of the Harmony of Worlds.

Education! He sees what is education, sir? You learn as much at school, it is hard, and not a little, to learn as much at school, and then, twenty years later, or maybe before, it is not so, things have changed, if they do not ... knows nothing. So not worth it. That's why I like to think that learning more.(With blue flowers )

Spiders? teeth are not so long as a torment that cannot be avowed.

Author Picture
First Name
Last Name
Birth Date
Death Date

French Poet and Novelist, Co-founder of Ouvroir de littérature potentielle (Oulipo)