Art is a shadow of Divine perfection.

If I am more alive because love burns and chars me, as a fire, given wood or wind, feels new elation, it's that he who lays me low is my salvation, and invigorates the more, the more he scars me.

If you knew how much work went into it, you wouldn't call it genius.

So now, from this mad passion Which made me take art for an idol and a king I have learnt the burden of error that it bore And what misfortune springs from man's desire... The world's frivolities have robbed me of the time That I was given for reflecting upon God.

No one has mastery, Before he is at the end, Of his art and his life.

However rich I may have been, I have always lived like a poor man.

It is well with me only when I have a chisel in my hand.