Come to the edge, he said. They said: We are afraid. Come to the edge, he said. They came. He pushed them and they flew.

Joy came always after pain.

Vase[Why weep Come back tomorrow There are also poisonous flowers and flowers always open in the evening she loves the cinema she has been in Russia Love married with disdain Pearl-studded watch a trip to...

When man wanted to make a machine that would walk he created the wheel, which does not resemble a leg.

”Come to the edge,” He said. They said, ”We are afraid.” ”Come to the edge,” He said. They cam. He pushed them… and they flew.

Le ChatJe souhaite dans ma maison:Une femme ayant sa raison.Un chat passant parmi les livres.Des amis en toute saisonSans lesquels je ne peux pas vivre.

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.

Memories are hunting horns whose sound dies on the wind

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....

One can’t carry one’s father’s corpse about everywhere.

Cubism is the art of depicting new wholes with formal elements borrowed not only from the reality of vision, but from that of conception.

J’ai cueilli ce brin de bruyèreL’automne est morte souviens-t’enNous ne nous verrons plus sur terreOdeur du temps brin de bruyèreEt souviens-toi que je t’attends

The plastic virtues: purity, unity, and truth, keep nature in subjection.

Oh ParisFrom red to green all the yellow dies awayParis Vancouver Hyeres Maintenon New York and the AntillesThe window opens like an orangeThe beautiful fruit of light(“Windows”)

Without poets, without artists, men would soon weary of nature’s monotony. The sublime idea men have of the universe would collapse with dizzying speed. The order which we find in nature, and which is only...

I hate artists who are not of their time.

Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la SeineEt nos amoursFaut-il qu’il m’en souvienneLa joie venait toujours après la peineVienne la nuit sonne l’heureLes jours s’en vont je demeureLes mains dans les mains restons face à faceTandis...

You alone in Europe are not ancient oh ChristianityThe most modern European is you Pope Pius XAnd you whom the windows observe shame keeps youFrom entering a church and confessing this morningYou read the prospectuses...

Joy always came after pain.

L’anémone et l’ancolieOnt poussé dans le jardinOù dort la mélancolieEntre l’amour et le dédainIl y vient aussi nos ombresQue la nuit dissiperaLe soleil qui les rend sombresAvec elles disparaîtraLes déités des eaux vivesLaissent couler leurs...

Come to the edge, He said.They said: We are afraid.Come to the edge, He said.They came. He pushed them,And they flew . . .”— Guillaume ApollinairetFrench poet

To insist on purity is to baptize instinct, to humanize art, and to deify personality.

Le mai le joli mai en barque sur le RhinDes dames regardaient du haut de la montagneVous êtes si jolies mais la barque s’éloigneQui donc a fait pleurer les saules riverainsOr des vergers fleuris se...

Now you are walking in Paris all alone in the crowdAs herds of bellowing buses drive byLove’s anguish tightens your throatAs if you were never to be loved againIf you lived in the old days...

Come to the edge, he said. They said: We can’t. We are afraid. Come to the edge, he said. They said: We can’t. We will fall! Come to the edge, he said. And they came....

La PucePuces, amis, amantes même,Qu’ils sont cruels ceux qui nous aiment!Tout notre sang coule pour eux.Les bien-aimés sont malheureux.

Artists are, above all, men who want to become inhuman.

Truth beyond the real

Horse[Man you will find herea new representation of the universeat its most poetic and most modernMan man man man man manGive yourself up to this art where the sublimedoes not exclude charmand brilliancy does not...

It’s raining my soul, it’s raining, but it’s raining dead eyes.

French painting today is the only school which counts; only it plunders the universe for the logic of the great traditions, only it is full of life.

Now and then it’s good to pause in our pursuit of happiness and just be happy.

People quickly grow accustomed to being the slaves of mystery.

A structure becomes architectural, and not sculptural, when its elements no longer have their justification in nature.