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

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.

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

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

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

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 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.