I transformed myself in the zero of form and emerged from nothing to creation, that is, to Suprematism, to the new realism in painting - to non-objective creation.

With the most primitive means the artist creates something which the most ingenious and efficient technology will never be able to create.

Only dull and impotent artists screen their work with sincerity. In art there is need for truth, not sincerity.

Man's skull represents the same infinity for the movement of conceptions. It is equal to the universe, for in it is contained all that sees in it.

Color is the essence of painting, which the subject always killed.

Painters were also attorneys, happy storytellers of anecdote, psychologists, botanists, zoologists, archaeologists, engineers, but there were no creative painters.

The square = feeling, the white field = the void beyond this feeling.

In art there is a need for truth, not sincerity.

I have broken the blue boundary of color limits, come out into the white; beside me comrade-pilots swim in this infinity.

By suprematism I mean the supremacy of pure feeling in creative art.

I perceived that the 'thing' and the 'idea' were taken to be equivalents of feeling, and understood the lie of the world of will and idea. Is the milk bottle the symbol of milk?

It's time for you to step up with courage and fight tirelessly to take back all that your fears and doubts have stolen from you.

There exists a sacred strength for every great accomplishment.

Our actions are like ships which we may watch set out to sea, and not know when or with what cargo they will return to port.

We are shaped by what we're saturated in, which is why incarnation must always be paired with devotion.

I think the theme that I was attracted to in 'Beautiful Creatures' was you claim yourself. In my opinion, I think that's a really valid idea and I'm glad that that's our foundation.

Return good for good; return evil with justice.

When I look back on my knee-jerk reactions now, I realize I should have just taken a breath.

THE autumn of 1850 brought an event freighted with deep significance to me. My mother died.

The souls of emperors and cobblers are cast in the same mould

Boy what a hotel that was, why they stole my towel.