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About 1883 something like a break occurred in my work. I had reached the end of 'impressionism,' and I had come to realize that I did not know how to paint or draw.
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It took me twenty years to discover painting: twenty years looking at nature, and above all, going to the Louvre.
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If the professional schools should succeed in producing skilled workers trained in the technique of their craft, nothing could be done with them if they had no ideal.
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I consider that women who are authors, lawyers, and politicians are monsters.
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How is it that in the so-called barbarian ages art was understood, whereas in our age of progress exactly the opposite is true?
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The artist who uses the least of what is called imagination will be the greatest.
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To express himself well, the artist should be hidden. The trouble is that if an artist knows he has genius, he's done for. The only salvation is to work like a labourer, and not have delusions of grandeur.
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To get someone to pose, you have to be very good friends and above all speak the language.
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Be a good craftsman; it won't stop you from being a genius.
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To be an artist you must learn the laws of nature.
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God, the king of artists, was clumsy.
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You come to nature with all her theories, and she knocks them all flat.
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Shall I tell you what I think are the two qualities of a work of art? First, it must be indescribable, and second, it must be inimitable.
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To my mind, a picture should be something pleasant, cheerful, and pretty, yes pretty! There are too many unpleasant things in life as it is without creating still more of them.
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Regularity, order, desire for perfection destroy art. Irregularity is the basis of all art.
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I never think I have finished a nude until I think I could pinch it.
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I'm still afflicted with the malady of research. I don't like what I do, and I paint it out, and paint it out again. I hope this mania will come to an end... I'm like a child at school. The white page must always be evenly written and slap! bang! and there's a blot! I'm still blotting and I'm forty years old.
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Work lovingly done is the secret of all order and all happiness.
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It is not enough for a painter to be a clever craftsman; he must love to 'caress' his canvas, too.
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One must from time to time attempt things that are beyond one's capacity.
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Progress in painting, there's no such thing! ...One day I went and changed the yellow on my palette. Well, the result was, I floundered for ten years!
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I've never let one day go by without painting, or at least without drawing.
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Out-of-doors there is a greater variety of light than in the studio, where the light is always the same. But that is just the trouble; one is carried away by the light, and besides, one can't see what one is doing.