There is no progress in art, any more than there is progress in making love.

I photograph the things that I do not wish to paint, the things which already have an existence.

I would photograph an idea rather than an object, a dream rather than an idea.

Thanks to my effort in the last 40 years, there has been more paper and film wasted.

The complicated engines manufactured by men demand, if one really wants to use them, much calm. Ever since our love for machines replaced the love we used to have for our fellow man, catastrophes proceed to increase.

To me, a painter, if not the most useful, is the least harmful member of our society.

Nature does not create works of art. It is we, and the faculty of interpretation peculiar to the human mind, that see art.