One can't carry one's father's corpse about everywhere.
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 an effect of art, would at once vanish. Everything would break up in chaos. There would be no seasons, no civilization, no thought, no humanity; even life would give way, and the impotent void would reign everywhere.
We cannot carry our father's corpse with us everywhere we go.
Without artists, the sublime idea men have of the universe would collapse with dizzying speed.
My, how beautiful is war! its songs, its leisure!
In this mirror, I am enclosed a live and real as you. Imagine angels and not like the reflections.
The plastic virtues: purity, unity, and truth, keep nature in subjection.
I hate artists who are not of their time.
Geometry is to the plastic arts what grammar is to the art of the writer.
Without artists, the order which we find in nature, and which is only an effect of art, would at once vanish.
Twentieth pupil of the centuries knows its stuff and bird-changed this century like Jesus climbs the sky.
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