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Oh! I must somehow manage to do a figure in a few strokes.
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There is but one Paris and however hard living may be here, and if it became worse and harder even—the French air clears up the brain and does good—a world of good.
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Don't lose heart if it's very difficult at times, everything will come out all right and nobody can in the beginning do as he wishes.
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My great longing is to make those very incorrectnesses, those deviations, remodellings, changes in reality, so that they may become, yes, lies if you like - but truer than the literal truth.
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Cobalt is a divine color and there is nothing as fine for putting an atmosphere round things. Carmine is the red of wine and is warm and lively like wine. The same goes for emerald green too. It's false economy to dispense with them, with those colors. Cadmium as well.
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Christ alone, of all the philosophers, magicians, etc., has affirmed eternal life as the most important certainty, the infinity of time, the futility of death, the necessity and purpose of serenity and devotion. He lived serenely, as an artist greater than all other artists, scorning marble and clay and paint, working in the living flesh. In other words, this peerless artist, scarcely conceivable with the blunt instrument of our modern, nervous and obtuse brains, made neither statues nor paintings nor books. He maintained in no uncertain terms that he made ... living men, immortals.
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There is nothing more beautiful than nature early in the morning.
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Paintings have a life of their own that derives from the painter's soul.
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A woman is not old as long as she loves and is loved
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How right it is to love flowers and the greenery of pines and ivy and hawthorn hedges; they have been with us from the very beginning.
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Spring is the fresh green of young corn and the pink blush of blossoms. Autumn contrasts the yellowed foilage with violet hues. Winter is the white of snow against its black forms ... Summer is the contrast of blues and the golden bronze of the corn.
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In an artist's life, death is perhaps not the most difficult thing.
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It was Richepin who said somewhere, 'The love of art means loss of real love'... True, but on the other hand, real love makes you disgusted with art.
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The fishermen know that the sea is dangerous and the storm terrible, but they have never found these dangers sufficient reason for remaining ashore.
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I will not live without love.
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You can't be at the pole and the equator at the same time. You must choose your own line, as I hope to do, and it will probably be color.
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What is true is that I have at times earned my own crust of bread, and at other times a friend has given it to me out of the goodness of his heart. I have lived whatever way I could, for better or for worse, taking things just as they came.
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The more I become decomposed, the more sick and fragile I am, the more I become an artist.
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It seems to me it's a painter's duty to try to put an idea into his work.
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I often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day.
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All art is a gift. It is first of all a gift that the maker can do it. It is then a gift to someone else, whether they pay for it or not. The wonder of it is that we cannot get the production of these gifts stopped. Art is life seeking itself. It is our intractable expressions of love for the beauties, ideas and epiphanies we regularly find. I framed the painting. It's now hanging in our den. "I have walked this earth for 30 years, and, out of gratitude, want to leave some souvenir.
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Love is something eternal.
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I always think photographs abominable, and I don't like to have them around, particularly not those of persons I know and love. Those photographic portraits wither much sooner than we ourselves do, whereas the painted portrait is a thing which is felt, done with love.
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Let’s not forget that the little emotions are the great captains of our lives and we obey them without realizing it.