One day I am satisfied, the next day I find it all bad; still I hope that some day I will find some of them good.

My life has been nothing but a failure.

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

Everyone discusses my art and pretends to understand, as if it were necessary to understand, when it is simply necessary to love.

Listening only to my instincts, I discovered superb things.

To have gone to all this trouble to get to this is just too stupid! Outside there's brilliant sunshine but I don't feel up to looking at it.

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