Recently I began reading my old diaries. Back to before the war. Gradually I became very depressed. The reason for that is probably that I wrote only when there were obstacles and halts to the flow of life, seldom when everything was smooth and even. ... As I read I distinctly felt what a half-truth a diary presents.

It seems to me nowadays that the most important task for someone who is aging is to spread love and warmth whenever possible.

To this day I do not know whether the power which has inspired my works is something related to religion, or is indeed religion itself.

Look at life with the eyes of a child.

There are moments on most days when I feel a deep and sincere gratitude, when I sit at the open window, and there is a blue sky or moving clouds.

There must be understanding between the artist and the people. In the best ages of art that has always been the case. Genius can probably run on ahead and seek out new ways. But the good artists who follow after genius — and I count myself among these — have to restore the lost connection once more.

Pacifism simply is not a matter of calm looking on; it is work, hard work.