More of me comes out when I improvise.

I find in working always the disturbing intrusion of elements not a part of my most interested vision, and the inevitable obliteration and replacement of this vision by the work itself as it proceeds.

I find linseed oil and white lead the most satisfactory mediums.

If the technical innovations of the Impressionists led merely to a more accurate representation of nature, it was perhaps of not much value in enlarging their powers of expression.

What I wanted to do was to paint sunlight on the side of a house.

Well, I've always been interested in approaching a big city in a train, and I can't exactly describe the sensations, but they're entirely human and perhaps have nothing to do with aesthetics.

In its most limited sense, modern, art would seem to concern itself only with the technical innovations of the period.