What is art? Art grows from joy and sorrow, but mostly from sorrow. It grows from human lives.

It was always my intention that The Frieze should be housed in a room which would provide a suitable architectural frame for it.

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

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

No longer shall I paint interiors with men reading and women knitting. I will paint living people who breathe and feel and suffer and love.

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.

Painting picture by picture, I followed the impressions my eye took in at heightened moments. I painted only memories, adding nothing, no details that I did not see. Hence the simplicity of the paintings, their emptiness.