The older I become the more I realize of that I have to work very hard to reproduce what I search: the instantaneous. The influence of the atmosphere on the things and the light scattered throughout.

No, I'm not a great painter. Neither am I a great poet.

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.

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

Everything changes, even stone.

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.

I know that to paint the sea really well, you need to look at it every hour of every day in the same place so that you can understand its way in that particular spot; and that is why I am working on the same motifs over and over again, four or six times even.