Comrade life, let us march faster, March faster through what's left of the five-year plan.

Art must not be concentrated in dead shrines called museums. lt must be spread everywhere – on the streets, in the trams, factories, workshops, and in the workers' homes.

The love boat has crashed against the everyday.

Our planet is poorly equipped for delight. One must snatch gladness from the days that are. In this life it's not difficult to die. To make life is more difficult by far.

If you wish, I shall grow irreproachably tender: not a man, but a cloud in trousers!

In the church of my heart the choir is on fire

Listen! If stars are lit It means there is someone who needs it, It means someone wants them to be, That someone deems those specks of spit Magnificent!

I want to be understood by my country, but if I fail to be understood - what then?, I shall pass through my native land to one side, like a shower of slanting rain.

Gentle souls! You play your love on the violin. The crude ones play it on the drums violently. But can you turn yourselves inside out, like me And become just two lips entirely?

On the pavement of my trampled soul the steps of madmen weave the prints of rude crude words.

But I, from poetry's skies, plunge into communism, because without it I feel no love.

She'd taken his heart and his virginity and left him more bitter than sweet.

He'd made sure i had something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue.

Good conversational debate is an end in itself, and talking for the love of conversation is what makes us human.

Photography has been very, very generous to me, but at the same time has damaged me.

There won't be any biographies of me because, for only one reason, lives spent between the house and the chicken yard do not make exciting copy.

Hee that stumbles and falles not, mends his pace.

While we read history we make history.

Art is creative for the sake of realization, not for amusement... for transfiguration, not for the sake of play.

We read critics for the perceptions, for what they tell us that we didn't fully grasp when we saw the work. The judgments we can usually make for ourselves.

All men's faces are true, whatsome'er their hands are.