I was walking down the road with two friends when the sun set; suddenly, the sky turned as red as blood. I stopped and leaned against the fence, feeling unspeakably tired. Tongues of fire and blood stretched over the bluish black fjord. My friends went on walking, while I lagged behind, shivering with fear. Then I heard the enormous infinite scream of nature.

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.

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.

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

In my childhood I always felt that I was treated unjustly, without a mother, sick, and with the threat of punishment in Hell hanging over my head

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.

It is better to have a good painting with ten holes than ten bad paintings without any holes.