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

I am very depressed and deeply disgusted with painting. It is really a continual torture.

It is a tragedy that we live in a world where physical courage is so common, and moral courage is so rare.

As for myself, I met with as much success as I ever could have wanted. In other words, I was enthusiastically run-down by every critic of the period.

All of a sudden I had the revelation of how enchanting my pond was.

I want the unobtainable. Other artists paint a bridge, a house, a boat, and that's the end. They are finished. I want to paint the air which surrounds the bridge, the house, the boat, the beauty of the air in which these objects are located, and that is nothing short of impossible.

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