My life has been nothing but a failure.

I'm not performing miracles, I'm using up and wasting a lot of paint.

I see less and less... I need to avoid lateral light, which darkens my colors. Nevertheless, I always paint at the times of day most propitious for me, as long as my paint tubes and brushes are not mixed up... I will paint almost blind, as Beethoven composed completely deaf.

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.

Without the fog, London would not be a beautiful city. It is fog that gives it its magnificent amplitude...its regular and massive blocks become grandiose in that mysterious mantle.

Apart from painting and gardening, I'm not good at anything.

My only desire is an intimate infusion with nature, and the only fate I wish is to have worked and lived in harmony with her laws.