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

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.

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 do not paint what I see, but what I saw.

All art, literature, and music must be born in your heart's blood. Art is your heart's blood.

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

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