My heart is forever in Giverny.

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 get madder and madder on giving back what I feel.

For me, a landscape does not exist in its own right, since its appearance changes at every moment; but the surrounding atmosphere brings it to life - the light and the air which vary continually. For me, it is only the surrounding atmosphere which gives subjects their true value.

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.

I am following Nature without being able to grasp her, I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.

What I need most of all is color, always, always.