What matters is real love for things of the world outside us and for the deep secrets within us.

Space, and space again, is the infinite deity which surrounds us and in which we are ourselves contained.

Height, width, and depth are the three phenomena which I must transfer into one plane to form the abstract surface of the picture, and thus to protect myself from the infinity of space.

What are you? What am I? Those are the questions that constantly persecute and torment me and perhaps also play some part in my art.

We will enjoy ourselves with the forms that are given us: a human face, a hand, the breast of a woman or the body of a man, a glad or sorrowful expression, the infinite seas, the wild rocks, the melancholy language of the black trees in the snow, the wild strength of spring flowers and the heavy lethargy of a hot summer day when Pan, our old friend, sleeps and the ghosts of midday whisper. This alone is enough to make us forget the grief of the world, or to give it form.

Art is creative for the sake of realization, not for amusement... for transfiguration, not for the sake of play.

I do not weep: I loathe tears, for they are a sign of slavery.