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If I am worth anything later, I am worth something now. For wheat is wheat, even if people think it is a grass in the beginning.
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I am a fanatic! I feel a power within me...a fire that I may not quench, but must keep ablaze.
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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 believe that one thinks much more soundly if the thoughts arise from direct contact with things, than if one looks at things with the aim of finding this or that in them.
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One must learn to read, just as one must learn to see and learn to live.
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It is better to be high-spirited even though one makes more mistakes, than to be narrow-minded and all too prudent.
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If you work diligently... without saying to yourself beforehand, 'I want to make this or that,' if you work as though you were making a pair of shoes, without artistic preoccupation, you will not always find you do well. But the days you least expect it, you will find a subject which holds its own with the work of those who have gone before.
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To try to understand the real significance of what the great artists, the serious masters, tell us in their masterpieces, that leads to God; one man wrote or told it in a book; another, in a picture.
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We are surrounded by poetry on all sides.
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The more you love, the more you suffer.
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Art is but imitation of nature.
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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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Normality is a paved road: It’s comfortable to walk, but no flowers grow on it.
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I try more and more to be myself, caring relatively little whether people approve or disapprove.
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Here everything is so wholly what I consider beautiful. In other words, there is peace here.
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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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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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How can I be useful, of what service can I be? There is something inside me, what can it be?
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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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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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For great things do not done just happen by impulse but are a succession of small things linked together.
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As a painter I shall never signify anything of importance. I feel it Absolutely.
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I am not an adventurer by choice but by fate.
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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.