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Christ is more of an artist than the artists; he works in the living spirit and the living flesh, he makes men instead of statues.
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I sometimes think there is nothing so delightful as drawing.
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We are having wind and rain here, and I am very glad not to be alone. I work from memory on bad days, and that would not do if I were alone.
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I want to paint men and women with that something of the external which the halo used to symbolize, and which we now seek to give by the actual radiance and vibrancy of our colorings.
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To save a life is a real and beautiful thing. To make a home for the homeless, yes, it is a thing that must be good; whatever the world may say, it cannot be wrong.
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I am not strictly speaking mad, for my mind is absolutely normal in the intervals, and even more so than before. But during the attacks it is terrible - and then I lose consciousness of everything. But that spurs me on to work and to seriousness, as a miner who is always in danger makes haste in what he does.
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When I have a model who is quiet and steady and with whom I am acquainted, then I draw repeatedly 'til there is one drawing that is different from the rest, which does not look like an ordinary study, but more typical and with more feeling.
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If one truly loves nature one finds beauty everywhere.
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I always dream a painting like that, with a group of lively figures of the pals.
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It is only too true that a lot of artists are mentally ill - it's a life which, to put it mildly, makes one an outsider. I'm all right when I completely immerse myself in work, but I'll always remain half crazy.
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I use color in a completely arbitrary way in order to express myself powerfully.
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What molting time is to birds, so adversity or misfortune is ... for us humans.
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The cypresses are always occupying my thoughts.
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I'll start with small things.
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It is difficult to know oneself, but it isn't easy to paint oneself either.
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There certainly is an affinity between a person and his work, but it is not easy to define what this affinity is, and on that question many judge quite wrongly.
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To the one party, woman is always heresy and diabolical. To me, the opposite.
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For the great doesn't happen through impulse alone, and is a succession of little things that are brought together.
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I have played hell somewhat with the truthfulness of the colours.
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Exaggerate the essential, leave the obvious vague.
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You know, what makes the prison disappear is every deep, serious attachment. To be friends, to be brothers, to love; that opens the prison through sovereign power, through a most powerful spell. But he who doesn't have that remains in death. But where sympathy springs up again, life springs up again.
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No blue without yellow and without orange, and if you do blue, then do yellow and orange as well, surely.
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The more I think about it, the more I realize there is nothing more artistic than to love others.
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Everywhere we look, complex magic of nature blazes before our eyes.