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I have played hell somewhat with the truthfulness of the colours.
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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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Van Gogh was so under appreciated in his time, he sold only one of his 900 paintings while alive. Posthumously, he became one of the most famous artists of all time and his work is now considered priceless. Oh the irony.
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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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But after all I find in my work an echo of what struck me. I see that nature has told me something, has spoken to me, and that I have put it down in shorthand. In my shorthand there may be words that cannot be deciphered. There may be mistakes or gap
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It may be true that there is no God here, but there must be one not far off, and at such a moment one feels His presence; which comes to the same as saying (and I readily give this sincere profession of faith): I believe in God, and that it is His wi
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I hope I shall be able to make some drawings in which there is something human.
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Fortunately for me, I know well enough what I want, and am basically utterly indifferent to the criticism that I work to hurriedly. In answer to that, I have done some things even more hurriedly theses last few days.
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Admire as much as you can. Most people do not admire enough.
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There is something intimate about painting I cannot explain to you ? but it is so delightful just for expressing one's feelings.
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The emotions are sometimes so strong that I work without knowing it. The strokes come like speech.
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People are often unable to do anything, imprisoned as they are in I don't know what kind of terrible, terrible, oh such terrible cage.
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Exaggerate the essential, leave the obvious vague.
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I believe I do much better for the time being by first copying some good things than by working without that foundation
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How lovely yellow is! It stands for the sun.
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If I succeed in putting some warmth and love into the work, then it will find friends. Carrying on working is the
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If one feels the need of something grand, something infinite, something that makes one feel aware of God, one need not go far to find it.
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There was a sentence in your letter that struck me, “I wish I were far away from everything, I am the cause of all, and bring only sorrow to everybody, I alone have brought all this misery on myself and others.” These words struck me because that same feeling, just the same, not more nor less, is also on my conscience.
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If I did not succeed I still thought that what I had worked on would be continued. Not immediately. But there are others who believe in things that are true.
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Art is but imitation of nature.
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To express hope by some star, the eagerness of a soul by a sunset radiance. Certainly there is nothing in that of stereoscopic realism, but is it not something that actually exists?
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The world concerns me only in so far as I feel a certain indebtedness and duty toward it because I have walked this earth for thirty years, and, out of gratitude, want to leave some souvenir in the shape of drawings or pictures — not made to please a certain taste in art, but to express a sincere human feeling.
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There is peace even in the storm
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One must spoil as many canvases as one succeeds with.