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.

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

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

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

To insist on purity is to baptize instinct, to humanize art, and to deify personality.

Without poets, without artists... everything would fall apart into chaos. There would be no more seasons, no more civilizations, no more thought, no more humanity, no more life even; and impotent darkness would reign forever. Poets and artists together determine the features of their age, and the future meekly conforms to their edit.

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.