I work at my garden all the time and with love. What I need most are flowers, always. My heart is forever in Giverny.

It is better to have done something than to have been someone.

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

It was at home I learned the little I know. Schools always appeared to me like a prison, and never could I make up my mind to stay there, not even for four hours a day, when the sunshine was inviting, the sea smooth, and when it was joy to run about the cliffs in the free air, or to paddle in the water.

What could be said about me...a man to whom only his painting matters? And of course his garden and his flowers as well.

Despite my extremely modest prices, dealers and art lovers are turning their backs on me. It is very depressing to see the lack of interest shown in an art object which has no market value.

I waited for the idea to consolidate, for the grouping and composition of themes to settle themselves in my brain.