I went across the fields to avoid the straight highways, along the firing lines where people were shooting at a small wooded hill, which is now covered with wooden crosses and lines of graves instead of spring flowers.

I think only of objects: of a leg or an arm, of the wonderful sense of foreshortening, breaking through the plane, of the division of space, of the combination of straight lines in relation to curved ones.

Space, and space again, is the infinite deity which surrounds us and in which we are ourselves contained.

I do not weep: I loathe tears, for they are a sign of slavery.

The stronger and more intense my desire becomes to capture and record that which is unsayable, the more tightly my mouth stays shut.

I passed blindly many things which belong to real and political life.

What I want to show in my work is the idea which hides itself behind so-called reality.