My heart is forever in Giverny.

Colors pursue me like a constant worry. They even worry me in my sleep.

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.

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

One day I am satisfied, the next day I find it all bad; still I hope that some day I will find some of them good.

When you go out to paint, try to forget what objects you have before you - a tree, house, a field....Merely think, here is a little square of blue, here an oblong of pink, here a streak of yellow, and paint it just as it looks to you, the exact color and shape, until it gives your own naive impression of the scene before you.

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.