The image that I remember most of all is of the Fenerbahçe players storming into the stadium before kickoff. They were called the canaries because of their yellow jerseys. It was as if they, like canaries, were fluttering into the stadium out of a hole. I loved it. It was poetry.

We live but for a short time, we see but very little, and we know almost nothing; so, at least, let's do some dreaming. Have yourself a very good Sunday, my dear readers.

Yet does illustrating in a new way signify a new way of seeing?

In poetically well built museums, formed from the heart's compulsions, we are consoled not by finding in them old objects that we love, but by losing all sense of Time.

Actually, it's the other way round. In a poor country, the only consolation people can have is the one that comes from their beliefs.

I believe that it isn't victories but defeats that promote nationalism.

The urbanized life has lead to the destruction of the legends.