No, I'm not a great painter. Neither am I a great poet.
My life has been nothing but a failure.
Color is my day-long obsession, joy and torment.
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.
I am following Nature without being able to grasp her, I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.
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.