Literature has exalted pensive immobility, ecstasy, and sleep. We exalt aggressive action, a feverish insomnia...The world’s magnificence has been enriched by a new beauty: the beauty of speed.
We will declare war on all artists and institutions which insist a façade of false modernity...they are ensnared by tradition, academicism and nauseating cerebral laziness.
The motor bus rushes into the houses, and the houses throw themselves on the motor bus. The construction of pictures has hitherto been foolishly traditional.
Futurist poets, painters, sculptors, and musicians of Italy! As long as the war lasts let us set aside our verse, our brushes, scapels, and orchestras! The red holidays of genius have begun!
This is how we decompose and recompose the universe according to our marvelous whims, to centuple the powers of the Italian creative genius and its absolute preeminence in the world.
How can generations of sculptors can continue to construct dummies without asking why the exhibition halls of sculpture have become reservoirs of boredom and nausea?
Just as the ancients drew inspiration for their art from the elements of nature, we—who are materially and spiritually artificial—must find that inspiration in the elements of the utterly new mechanical world we have created.
Ancient life was all silence. Today, Noise reigns supreme over the sensibility of men.
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