To say that my grief will be eternal would be ridiculous - nothing is eternal.
What am I? Nothing. What would I be? Everything.
Art just consists in making us swallow the commonplaces by charming us eternally.
Soul is as necessary in a painting as body.
Nothing is ever so good or so bad in reality as it is in the anticipation.
Time is the most terrible, the most discouraging, the most unconquerable of all obstacles, and one that may exist when no other does.