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I love men, not for what unites them, but for what divides them, and I want to know most of all what gnaws at their hearts.

Guillaume Apollinaire

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Guillaume Apollinaire
Age: 38 †
Born: 1880
Born: August 26
Died: 1918
Died: November 10
Art Critic
Censor
Correspondent
Diarist
Drawer
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Storyteller
Writer
The Eternal City
Wilhelm Albert Włodzimierz Apolinary Kostrowicki
Wilhelm Apollinaris de Kostrowitzki
Guillaume Apolinaire
Guillaume de Kostrowisky
Wilhelm Apollinaris de Kostrowitzky
Guillaume De Kostrowisky
Guillaume Albert Wladimir Alexandre Apollinaire de Kostrowitzky
Wilhelm Albert Wladimir Alexander Apollinaris de Kostrowitzky
Guillaume Albert Vladimi
Unites
Divides
Hearts
Heart
Men
Love
Gnaws

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Geometry is to the plastic arts what grammar is to the art of the writer.
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Memories are hunting horns whose sound dies on the wind.
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Without poets, without artists, men would soon weary of nature's monotony.
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Artists are, above all, men who want to become inhuman.
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A structure becomes architectural, and not sculptural, when its elements no longer have their justification in nature.
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We cannot carry our father's corpse with us everywhere we go.
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How slow life is, how violent hope is.
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When man resolved to imitate walking, he invented the wheel, which does not look like a leg. In doing this, he was practicing surrealism without knowing it.
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Joy always came after pain.
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Without artists, the sublime idea men have of the universe would collapse with dizzying speed.
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Matisse renovates rather than innovates.
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Without artists, the order which we find in nature, and which is only an effect of art, would at once vanish.
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The plastic virtues: purity, unity, and truth, keep nature in subjection.
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It's raining my soul, it's raining, but it's raining dead eyes.
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