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

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

Every day I discover more and more beautiful things. It’s enough to drive one mad. I have such a desire to do everything, my head is bursting with it.

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

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

My work is always better when I am alone and follow my own impressions.

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