I hate artists who are not of their time.

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

Come to the edgeHe said. They said: We are afraid.Come to the edgeHe said. They came.He pushed them, andthey flew...

Without poets, without artists, men would soon weary of nature's monotony.

Joy always came after pain.

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.