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Perhaps the sketch of a work is so pleasing because everyone can finish it as he chooses.
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If you are not skillful enough to sketch a man jumping out of a window in the time it takes him to fall from the fourth storey to the ground, you will never be able to produce great works.
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Perfect beauty implies perfect simplicity, a quality that at first sight does not arouse the emotions which we feel before gigantic works, objects whose very disproportion constitutes an element of beauty.
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A picture is nothing but a bridge between the soul of the artist and that of the spectator.
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Nature is a dictionary; one draws words from it.
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The so-called conscientiousness of the majority of painters is only perfection applied to the art of boring.
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Draughtsmen may be made, but colourists are born.
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To be understood a writer has to explain almost everything.
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What is real for me are the illusions I create with my paintings. Everything else is quicksand.
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As for the ridiculous fear of making things below one's potential abilities... No, there is the root of the evil. There is the hiding place of stupidity I must attack: vain mortal, you are limited by nothing.
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You increase your self-respect when you feel you've done everything you ought to have done, and if there is nothing else to enjoy, there remains that chief of pleasures, the feeling of being pleased with oneself. A man gets an immense amount of satisfaction from the knowledge of having done good work and of having made the best use of his day, and when I am in this state I find that I thoroughly enjoy my rest and even the mildest forms of recreation.
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What makes sovereign ugliness are our conventions.
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What I have done cannot be taken from me.
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Always, at the back of your soul, there is something that says to you, 'Mortal, drawn from eternal life for a short time, think how precious these moments are.
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Do not be troubled for a language, cultivate your soul and she will show herself.
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How can this world, which is so beautiful, include so much horror?
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One always has to spoil a picture a little bit, in order to finish it.
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Commonplace people have an answer for everything and nothing ever surprises them. They try to look as though they knew what you were about to say better than you did yourself, and when it is their turn to speak, they repeat with great assurance something that they have heard other people say, as though it were their own invention.
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One must learn to be grateful for one's own findings.
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Painters who are not colorists produce illumination, not painting.