I feel the matter of my heart being transformed, metallized, in an optimism of steel.

We want to sing the love of danger, the habit of energy and rashness.

We will glorify war-the world's only hygiene, milliterism, patriotism , the destructive gesture of freedom-bringers, beautiful ideas worth dying for, and scorn for woman

Destroy the Museums. Crack syntax. Sabotage the adjective. Leave nothing but the verb.

A new beauty has been added to the splendor of the world - the beauty of speed.

Art, in fact, can be nothing but violence, cruelty and injustice.

War is the highest form of modern art.

The past is necessarily inferior to the future. That is how we wish it to be. How could we acknowledge any merit in our most dangerous enemy: the past, gloomy prevaricator, execrable tutor?

Idealists, workers of thought, unite to show how inspiration and genius walk in step with the progress of the machine, of aircraft, of industry, of trade, of the sciences, of electricity.

Spaghetti is no food for fighters.

War, the World's Only Hygiene

Salvation is neither human effort nor desire.

People are like songs to me. About 60 seconds in, I'll know whether or not to add them to my 'favorites.

Endurance, I reminded myself, is the true measure of existence.

We know nothing of what will happen in future, but by the analogy of experience.

Growth takes time. God knows that. I know that. And to my surprise, His abundance is mine in the process - not as a prize at the end.

I watched as an extremely nerdy exhibitor - I'm talking about a guy who makes Bill Gates look like Brad Pitt.

Civilization is in a race between education and catastrophe. Let us learn the truth and spread it as far and wide as our circumstances allow. For the truth is the greatest weapon we have.

I went from being totally unknown to getting stopped every time I went out. I always wanted to be successful, but I have never wanted to become a celebrity. I never, ever, craved that.

At night I sit in my chamber and read the bible. Far in the distance roars the sea. Then I lie down and think for a long time about the calm and pale man from Nazareth.

Old love, old love, / How can I be true? / Shall I be faithless to myself / Or to you?