Vincent Van Gogh Quotes
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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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I want to paint what I feel, and feel what I paint.
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I have played hell somewhat with the truthfulness of the colours.
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I feel such a creative force in me: I am convinced that there will be a time when, let us say, I will make something good every day , on a regular basis....I am doing my very best to make every effort because I am longing so much to make beautiful things. But beautiful things mean painstaking work, disappointment, and perseverance.
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I always dream a painting like that, with a group of lively figures of the pals.
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When using colors to recreate a general harmony of tones in nature, one loses it by painfully exact imitation. One keeps it by recreating in an equivalent color range, and that may not be exactly, or far from exactly, like the model.
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Ah! Portraiture, portraiture with the thought, the soul of the model in it, that is what I think must come.
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It is looking at things for a long time that ripens you and gives you a deeper meaning.
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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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What preys on my mind is simply this one question: what am I good for, could I not be of service or use in some way?
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We are surrounded by poetry on all sides.
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There is a sun, a light that for want of another word I can only call yellow, pale sulphur yellow, pale golden citron. How lovely yellow is!
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I myself am quite absorbed by the delicate yellow, delicate soft green, delicate violet of a ploughed and weeded piece of soil.
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How rich art is, if one can only remember what one has seen, one is never empty of thoughts or truly lonely, never alone.
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I must continue to follow the path I take now. If I do nothing, if I study nothing, if I cease searching, then, woe is me, I am lost. That is how I look at it - keep going, keep going come what may.
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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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You can feel the stars and the infinity of the sky since life, in spite of everything, is like a dream.
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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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Life itself, too, is forever turning an infinitely vacant, dispiriting blank side towards man on which nothing appears, any more than it does on a blank canvas. But no matter how vacant and vain, how dead life may appear to be, the man of faith, of energy, of warmth, who knows something, will not be put off so easily.
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To do good work one must eat well, be well housed, have one's fling from time to time, smoke one's pipe, and drink one's coffee in peace
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One must learn to read, just as one must learn to see and learn to live.
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I often think of you all, one cannot do what one wants in life. The more you feel attached to a spot, the more ruthlessly you are compelled to leave it, but the memories remain, and one remembers - as in a looking glass, darkly - one's absent friends.
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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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And love makes one calmer about many things, and in that way, one is more fit for one's work.