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.

Taste! It doesn't exist. An artist makes beautiful things without being aware of it.

The museums are here to teach the history of art and something more as well, for, if they stimulate in the weak a desire to imitate, they furnish the strong with the means of their emancipation.

It seems to me that today, if the artist wishes to be serious - to cut out a little original niche for himself, or at least preserve his own innocence of personality - he must once more sink himself in solitude. There is too much talk and gossip; pictures are apparently made, like stock-market prices, by competition of people eager for profit; in order to do anything at all we need (so to speak) the wit and ideas of our neighbors as much as the businessmen need the funds of others to win on the market. All this traffic sharpens our intelligence and falsifies our judgment.

One must do the same subject over again ten times, a hundred times. In art nothing must resemble an accident, not even movement.

The fascinating thing, is not to show the source of light, but the effect of light.