real art is religion, a search for the beauty of God deep in all things.

The spirit must be felt so intensely that it has power to call others in passing, for it must pass, not stop in the pictures.

The liveness in me just loves to feel the liveness in growing things, in grass and rain and leaves and flowers and sun and feathers and furs and earth and sand and moss.

Indians do not hinder the progress of their dead by embalming or tight coffining. When the spirit has gone they give the body back to the earth. the earth welcomes the body-coaxes new life and beauty from it, hurries over what men shudder at. Lovely tender herbage bursts from the graves, swiftly, exulting over corruption.

There is something bigger than fact: the underlying spirit, all it stands for, the mood, the vastness, the wildness.

It is wonderful to feel the grandness of Canada in the raw.

I think that one's art is a growth inside one. I do not think one can explain growth. It is silent and subtle. One does not keep digging up a plant to see how it grows.