Boredom soon overcomes me when I am contemplating nature.

And even this heart of mine has something artificial. The dancers have sewn it into a bag of pink satin, pink satin slightly faded, like their dancing shoes.

I really have a lot of stuff in my head; if only there were insurance companies for that as there are for so many things.

The true traveler never arrives.

If I could have had my own way, I would have confined myself to black and white.

I would have been in mortal misery all my life for fear my wife might say, "That's a pretty little thing," after I had finished a picture.

There is love, and there is work; and we have only one heart.