What I need most of all is color, always, always.

Colors pursue me like a constant worry. They even worry me in my sleep.

Gardening was something I learned in my youth when I was unhappy. I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.

Pictures aren't made out of doctrines. Since the appearance of impressionism, the official salons, which used to be brown, have become blue, green, and red...But peppermint or chocolate, they are still confections.

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.

The only merit I have is to have painted directly from nature with the aim of conveying my impressions in front of the most fugitive effects.

If the world really looks like that I will paint no more!