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.

From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity.

I do not believe in the art which is not the compulsive result of man's urge to open his heart

I should have considered it wrong to have finished the Frieze before the room for its accommodation and the funds for its completion were available.

One can easily tell that the creator of the paintings in the Sistine Chapel was above all a sculptor

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

If what you want to paint is the emotive mood in all its strength... then you must not sit and stare at everything and depict it exactly as one sees it.