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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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Admire as much as you can. Most people do not admire enough.
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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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I believe it is one's duty to paint the rich and magnificent aspects of nature. We need gaiety and happiness, hope and love.
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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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There is peace even in the storm
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Normality is a paved road: It’s comfortable to walk, but no flowers grow on it.
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It is the painting that makes me so happy these days.
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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 what I feel, and feel what I paint.
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I use color in a completely arbitrary way in order to express myself powerfully.
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So let us go forward quietly, each on his own path, forever making for the light.
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As practice makes perfect, I cannot but make progress; each drawing one makes, each study one paints, is a step forward.
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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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Just slap anything on when you see a blank canvas staring you in the face like some imbecile. You don't know how paralyzing that is, that stare of a blank canvas is, which says to the painter, ‘You can't do a thing’. The canvas has an idiotic stare and mesmerizes some painters so much that they turn into idiots themselves. Many painters are afraid in front of the blank canvas, but the blank canvas is afraid of the real, passionate painter who dares and who has broken the spell of `you can't' once and for all.
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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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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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The cypresses are always occupying my thoughts.
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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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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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The diseases that we civilized people labor under most are melancholy and pessimism.
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Though I am often in the depths of misery, there is still calmness, pure harmony and music inside me.
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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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I myself am quite absorbed by the delicate yellow, delicate soft green, delicate violet of a ploughed and weeded piece of soil.