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

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.

I love men, not for what unites them, but for what divides them, and I want to know most of all what gnaws at their hearts.

Memories are hunting horns whose sound dies on the wind.

The new painters do not propose, any more than did their predecessors, to be geometers. But it may be said that geometry is to the plastic arts what grammar is to the art of the writer. Today, scholars no longer limit themselves to the three dimensions of Euclid. The painters have been lead quite naturally, one might say by intuition, to preoccupy themselves with the new possibilities of spatial measurement which, in the language of the modern studios, are designated by the term fourth dimension.

One can't carry one's father's corpse about everywhere.

Now and then it's good to pause in our pursuit of happiness and just be happy.