Memories Are Hunting Horns Whose Sound Dies

The Plastic Virtues: Purity, Unity, And Truth, Keep Nature In Subjection.

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.

Geometry Is To The Plastic Arts What Grammar Is To The Art Of The Writer.

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.

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.