Art is a fruit that grows in man, like a fruit on a plant, or a child in its mother's womb.

Tooting, howling, screeching, booming, crashing, whistling, grinding, and trilling bolster his [mankind's] ego. His anxiety subsides. His inhuman void spreads monstrously like a gray vegetation.

I allow myself to be guided by the work which is in the process of being born. I have confidence in it. I do not think about it.

Artists should work together like the artists of the Middle Ages.

All things, and man as well, should be like nature, without measure.

I use very little red. I use blue, yellow, a little green, but especially... black, white and grey. There is a certain need in me for communication with human beings. Black and white is writing.

Often the hands grasp more quickly than the head.