It seems to be my mission in life to wait on a dog.

I have a single track mind. I work on an idea for a long time. It's like getting acquainted with a person, and I don't get acquainted easily.

I decided to accept as true my own thinking.

I've been afraid every single day of my life, but I've gone ahead and done it anyway.

It was in the 1920s, when nobody had time to reflect, that I saw a still-life painting with a flower that was perfectly exquisite, but so small you really could not appreciate it.

A flower touches everyone's heart.

If one could only reproduce nature, and always with less beauty than the original, why paint at all?