I had seen faces in photographs I might have found beautiful had I known even vaguely in what beauty was supposed to consist. And my father's face, on his death-bolster, had seemed to hint at some form of aesthetics relevant to man. But the faces of the living, all grimace and flush, can they be described as objects?

Let us do something, while we have the chance! ... Let us make the most of it, before it is too late! Let us represent worthily for one the foul brood to which a cruel fate consigned us!

The bicycle is a great good. But it can turn nasty, if ill employed.

I speak for an art ... weary of its puny exploits, weary of pretending to be able, of being able, of doing a little better the same old thing, of going a little further along a dreary road.

I use the words you taught me. If they don't mean anything any more, teach me others. Or let me be silent.

Don’t wait to be hunted to hide, that was always my motto.

All mankind is us, whether we like it or not.