Now and then it's good to pause in our pursuit of happiness and just be happy.
Come to the edge.' 'We can't. We're afraid.' 'Come to the edge.' 'We can't. We will fall!' 'Come to the edge.' And they came. And he pushed them. And they flew.
Without poets, without artists... everything would fall apart into chaos. There would be no more seasons, no more civilizations, no more thought, no more humanity, no more life even; and impotent darkness would reign forever. Poets and artists together determine the features of their age, and the future meekly conforms to their edit.
Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure Les jours s'en vont je demeure
When man resolved to imitate walking, he invented the wheel, which does not look like a leg. In doing this, he was practicing surrealism without knowing it.
Memories are hunting horns whose sound dies on the wind.
Joy came always after pain.
I don't want to work. I want to smoke.
Color is the fruit of life.
Without poets, without artists, men would soon weary of nature's monotony.
Artists are, above all, men who want to become inhuman.
I love men, not for what unites them, but for what divides them, and I want to know most of all what gnaws at their hearts.
How slow life is, how violent hope is.
One day/ One day I waited for myself/ I said to myself Guillaume it's time you came/ So I could know just who I am/ I who know others.
To insist on purity is to baptize instinct, to humanize art, and to deify personality.
The new painters do not propose, any more than did their predecessors, to be geometers. But it may be said that geometry is to the plastic arts what grammar is to the art of the writer. Today, scholars no longer limit themselves to the three dimensions of Euclid. The painters have been lead quite naturally, one might say by intuition, to preoccupy themselves with the new possibilities of spatial measurement which, in the language of the modern studios, are designated by the term fourth dimension.
When man wanted to make a machine that would walk he created the wheel, which does not resemble a leg.
I sing the joy of wandering and the pleasure of the wanderer's death
It's raining my soul, it's raining, but it's raining dead eyes.
Joy always came after pain.
People quickly grow accustomed to being the slaves of mystery.
Paint with whatever material you please - with pipes, postage stamps, postcards or playing cards, painted paper, or newspapers.
Matisse renovates rather than innovates.
A structure becomes architectural, and not sculptural, when its elements no longer have their justification in nature.
Geometry is to the plastic arts what grammar is to the art of the writer.
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