DaDa is beautiful like the night, who cradles the young day in her arms.

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.

Zurich in 1915,... While the thunder of the batteries rumbled in the distance, we pasted, we recited, we versified, we sang with all our soul. We searched for an elementary art that would, we thought, save mankind from the madness of these times.

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

Ever since my childhood, I was haunted by the search for perfection. An imperfectly cut paper literally made me ill. I would guillotine it.

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.

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