Without poets, without artists, men would soon weary of nature's monotony.

In this mirror, I am enclosed a live and real as you. Imagine angels and not like the reflections.

Twentieth pupil of the centuries knows its stuff and bird-changed this century like Jesus climbs the sky.

I hate artists who are not of their time.

When man resolved to imitate walking, he invented the wheel, which does not look like a leg. In doing this, he was practicing surrealism without knowing it.

Joy always came after pain.

Artists are, above all, men who want to become inhuman.