I went across the fields to avoid the straight highways, along the firing lines where people were shooting at a small wooded hill, which is now covered with wooden crosses and lines of graves instead of spring flowers.

What matters is real love for things of the world outside us and for the deep secrets within us.

I think only of objects: of a leg or an arm, of the wonderful sense of foreshortening, breaking through the plane, of the division of space, of the combination of straight lines in relation to curved ones.

If you wish to get hold of the invisible you must penetrate as deeply as possible into the visible.

It was so wonderful outside that even the wild senselessness of this enormous death, whose music I hear again and again, could not disturb me from my great enjoyment!

Space, and space again, is the infinite deity which surrounds us and in which we are ourselves contained.

I believe the reason I love painting so much is that it forces one to be objective.