It's raining my soul, it's raining, but it's raining dead eyes.

Come to the edge.' 'We can't. We're afraid.' 'Come to the edge.' 'We can't. We will fall!' 'Come to the edge.' And they came. And he pushed them. And they flew.

When man wanted to make a machine that would walk he created the wheel, which does not resemble a leg.

A structure becomes architectural, and not sculptural, when its elements no longer have their justification in nature.

How slow life is, how violent hope is.

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

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