Where I was born and where and how I have lived is unimportant. It is what I have done with where I have been that should be of interest.

I'd been taught to paint like other people, and I thought, what's the use? I couldn't do any better than they, or even as well. I was just adding to the brushpile. So I quit.

I decided that if I could paint that flower in a huge scale, you could not ignore its beauty.

The morning is the best time, there are no people around. My pleasant disposition likes the world with nobody in it.

If only people were trees… I might like them better.

I'm frightened all the time. But I never let it stop me. Never!

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