You cannot know what you do not feel.

In the race for money some men may come first, but man comes last.

Artists never make wars. They are too busy making life out of the matter of their visions.

Borders are scratched across the hearts of men By strangers with a calm, judicial pen, And when the borders bleed we watch with dread The lines of ink across the map turn red.

It's never what you say, but how you make it sound sincere.

In our long and obsessive passion for youth, we have - more than any other modern society - avoided direct approach to age and to dying by denying them in word, in fact, and - above all - in worth.

The world of sight is still limitless. It is the artist who limits vision to the cramped dimensions of his own ego.