From the moment of my birth, the angels of anxiety, worry, and death stood at my side, followed me out when I played, followed me in the sun of springtime and in the glories of summer. They stood at my side in the evening when I closed my eyes, and intimidated me with death, hell, and eternal damnation.

I find it difficult to imagine an afterlife, such as Christians, or at any rate many religious people, conceive it, believing that the conversations with relatives and friends interrupted here on earth will be continued in the hereafter.

The camera will never compete with the brush and the palette, until such time as photographs can be taken in Heaven or Hell.

I sense a scream passing through nature. I painted ... the clouds as actual blood. The colour shrieked.

Death is pitch-dark, but colors are light. To be a painter, one must work with rays of light.

No longer shall I paint interiors with men reading and women knitting. I will paint living people who breathe and feel and suffer and love.

There is a battle that goes on between men and women. Many people call it love.