Color is my day-long obsession, joy and torment. To such an extent indeed that one day, finding myself at the deathbed of a woman who had been and still was very dear to me, I caught myself in the act of focusing on her temples and automatically analyzing the succession of appropriately graded colors which death was imposing on her motionless face.

I don’t think I’m made for any earthly kind of pleasure.

I am following Nature without being able to grasp her, I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.

I can only draw what I see.

To see we must forget the name of the thing we are looking at.

Everything changes, even stone.

When you go out to paint, try to forget what objects you have before you - a tree, house, a field....Merely think, here is a little square of blue, here an oblong of pink, here a streak of yellow, and paint it just as it looks to you, the exact color and shape, until it gives your own naive impression of the scene before you.