The viewers must come to understand the sacredness of painting, so they will remove their hats as if they were in church.

Your face encompasses the beauty of the whole earth. Your lips, as red as ripening fruit, gently part as if in pain. It is the smile of a corpse. Now the hand of death touches life. The chain is forged that links the thousand families that are dead to the thousand generations to come.

The rich man who gives, steals twice over. First he steals the money and then the hearts of men.

I find it difficult to imagine an afterlife, such as Christians, or at any rate many religious people, conceive it, believing that the conversations with relatives and friends interrupted here on earth will be continued in the hereafter.

I sense a scream passing through nature. I painted ... the clouds as actual blood. The colour shrieked.

I don’t believe in an art that is not born out of man’s need to open his heart.

There is a battle that goes on between men and women. Many people call it love.