The word was born in the blood, grew in the dark body, beating, and took flight through the lips and the mouth. Farther away and nearer still, still it came from dead fathers and from wondering races, from lands which had turned to stone, lands weary of their poor tribes, for when grief took to the roads the people set out and arrived and married new land and water to grow their words again. And so this is the inheritance; this is the wavelength which connects us with dead men and the dawning of new beings not yet come to light.
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Es tan corto el amor, y tan largo el olvido. (Love is so short, and forgetting is so long.)
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I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.
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A child who does not play is not a child, but the man who doesn't play has lost forever the child who lived in him and who he will miss terribly.
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Es tan corto el amor, y tan largo el olvido.
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A bibliophile of little means is likely to suffer often. Books don't slip from his hands but fly past him through the air, high as birds, high as prices.
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The Night in Isla Negra
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Es tan corto el amor, y tan largo el olvido.
(Love is so short, and forgetting is so long.)
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There is no abstract art. You must always start with something. Afterward you can remove all traces of reality.
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This is the greatest honour I have ever received in my life. Peace has always been my greatest concern. Yet in my childhood I learned to love it. My mother - an exceptional, brilliant woman - used to speak to me about it when I was still a child, because in those years there were also a lot of wars. Moreover, I am Catalan. Catalonia had the first democratic Parliament much before than England. And it was in my country where there was a beginning of united nations. At that time - the eleventh Century - they met in Toluges - today in France - to speak about peace, because the Catalonian people of that time were already against war. That is why, the United Nations, which work only for the ideal of peace, are in my hearth, because everything relating to peace goes directly there. I have not played the cello in front of an audience since long years but I think I must do it this time. I am going to play a melody from the Catalonian folklore: The singing of the Birds. Birds, when in the sky, go singing: Peace, peace, peace. And this is a melody that Bach, Beethoven and all great people would have admired and loved. And, in addition, it springs up from the soul of my country: Catalonia.
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I have a horror of people who speak about the beautiful. What is the beautiful? One must speak of problems in painting!
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Never permit a dichotomy to rule your life, a dichotomy in which you hate what you do so you can have pleasure in your spare time. Look for a situation in which your work will give you as much happiness as your spare time.
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Give me a museum, and I'll fill it.
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Every act of creation is first of all an act of destruction.
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I'd like to live as a poor man with lots of money.
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It is your work in life that is the ultimate seduction.
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Well, youth is the period of assumed personalities and disguises. It is the time of the sincerely insincere.
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The chief enemy of creativity is good taste.
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Every positive value has its price in negative terms. The genius of Einstein leads to Hiroshima
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Accidents, try to change them-it's impossible. The accidental reveals man.
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Accidents, try to change them -- it's impossible. The accidental reveals man.
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The more technique you have, the less you have to worry about it. The more technique there is, the less there is.
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I paint objects as I think them, not as I see them.
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There are painters who transform the sun to a yellow spot, but there are others who with the help of their art and their intelligence, transform a yellow spot into the sun
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Art is a lie which makes us realize the truth.
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Art washes away the dust of everyday life.
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Art is a lie that makes us realize the truth.
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Some painters transform the sun into a yellow spot, others transform a yellow spot into the sun.
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The artist is a receptacle for the emotions that come from all over the place: from the sky, from the earth, from a scrap of paper, from a passing shape, from a spider's web.
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Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.
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