If all life moves inevitably towards its end, then we must, during our own, colour it with our colours of love and hope.

What a genius, that Picasso. It is a pity he doesn't paint.

I adore the theater and I am a painter. I think the two are made for a marriage of love. I will give all my soul to prove this once more.

One fine day as my mother was putting the bread in the oven, I went up to her and taking her by her flour-smeared elbow I said to her, Mama I want to be a painter.

What counts is art. painting, a kind of painting that is quite different from what everyone makes it out to be. But what kind? Will God or someone else give me the strength to breathe the breath of prayer and mourning into my paintings, the breath of prayer for redemption and resurrection?

Mozart never composed anything, ever! He copied what was written on his soul.

Art seems to me to be above all a state of soul. All souls are sacred, the soul of all the bipeds in every quarter of the globe.