The Thames was all gold. God it was beautiful, so fine that I began working a frenzy, following the sun and its reflections on the water.

Color is my day-long obsession, joy and torment. To such an extent indeed that one day, finding myself at the deathbed of a woman who had been and still was very dear to me, I caught myself in the act of focusing on her temples and automatically analyzing the succession of appropriately graded colors which death was imposing on her motionless face.

the more I live, the more I regret how little i know

Nothing in the whole world is of interest to me but my painting and my flowers.

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.

I want the unobtainable. Other artists paint a bridge, a house, a boat, and that's the end. They are finished. I want to paint the air which surrounds the bridge, the house, the boat, the beauty of the air in which these objects are located, and that is nothing short of impossible.

It's on the strength of observation and reflection that one finds a way. So we must dig and delve unceasingly.