To say that my grief will be eternal would be ridiculous - nothing is eternal.
Time is the most terrible, the most discouraging, the most unconquerable of all obstacles, and one that may exist when no other does.
Art ... is as much a source of happiness for the beginner as for the master. One forgets everything in one's work.
Soul is as necessary in a painting as body.
What am I? Nothing. What would I be? Everything.
To live, to have so much ambition, to suffer, to cry, to fight and, at the end, forgetfulness ... as if I had never existed.