Without anxiety and illness I would have been like a ship without a rudder.

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

For as long as I can remember I have suffered from a deep feeling of anxiety which I have tried to express in my art.

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

Disease, insanity, and death were the angels that attended my cradle, and since then have followed me throughout my life.

To die is as if one's eyes had been put out and one cannot see anything any more. Perhaps it is like being shut in a cellar. One is abandoned by all. They have slammed the door and are gone. One does not see anything and notices only the damp smell of putrefaction.

Oil-painting is a developed technique. Why go backwards?