I was walking along a road one evening – on one side lay the city, and below me was the fjord. The sun went down – the clouds were stained red, as if with blood. I felt as though the whole of nature was screaming – it seemed as though I could hear a scream. I painted that picture, painting the clouds like real blood. The colours screamed.

Without fear and disease, my life would be like a boat without oars.

Youth must go ahead and prosper. These young painters are all very talented people, but they all paint frescoes.

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

Without fear and illness, I could never have accomplished all I have

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

A person himself believes that all the other portraits are good likenesses except the one of himself.