Life, that is Paris! Paris, that is life!
Art ... is as much a source of happiness for the beginner as for the master. One forgets everything in one's work.
To say that my grief will be eternal would be ridiculous - nothing is eternal.
To live, to have so much ambition, to suffer, to cry, to fight and, at the end, forgetfulness ... as if I had never existed.
Nothing is ever so good or so bad in reality as it is in the anticipation.
What am I? Nothing. What would I be? Everything.