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.
Edvard MunchNo longer shall I paint interiors with men reading and women knitting. I will paint living people who breathe and feel and suffer and love.
Edvard MunchWhat is art? Art grows from joy and sorrow, but mostly from sorrow. It grows from human lives.
Edvard Munch