Humanity is the rich effluvium, it is the waste and the manure and the soil, and from it grows the tree of the arts.

I desired my dust to be mingled with yours Forever and forever and forever.

The modern artist must live by craft and violence. His gods are violent gods. Those artists, so called, whose work does not show this strife, are uninteresting.

The intellect is a very nice whirligig toy, but how people take it seriously is more than I can understand.

To say that a state cannot pursue its aims because there is no money, is like saying that an engineer cannot build roads, because there are no kilometers.

I once saw a small child go to an electric light switch as say, Mamma, can I open the light? She was using the age-old language of exploration, the language of art.

Haie! Haie! These were the swift to harry; These the keen-scented; These were the souls of blood. Slow on the leash, pallid the leash-men!