Oh Paris, I hate you so much! What are you doing in this city? Ah! It’s yours. Certainly, you think you have succeeded! But you need to be twenty to do this, poor dear, and if you want to attain glory, you must be ugly like a man. I cannot understand how Victor Hugo could, for forty long years, work. All literature, it’s: ta, ta, ta, ta, ta, ta. Art, Art, what hinges me to Art? Shit, in the name of God!
Arthur Cravan, Maintenant