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

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.

Most people think I paint fast. I paint very slowly.

It's on the strength of observation and reflection that one finds a way. So we must dig and delve unceasingly.

Color is my day-long obsession, joy and torment.

For me, the subject is of secondary importance: I want to convey what is alive between me and the subject.

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