The hidden harmony is better than the obvious.

Why do two colors, put one next to the other, sing?

Every now and then one paints a picture that seems to have opened a door and serves as a stepping stone to other things.

We artists are indestructible; even in a prison, or in a concentration camp, I would be almighty in my own world of art, even if I had to paint my pictures with my wet tongue on the dusty floor of my cell.

I am always making that what I am not capable, in an attempt to learn how to doing it.

What do you think an artist is? An imbecile who has only his eyes if he's a painter, or ears if he's a musician, or a lyre at every level of his heart if he's a poet, or even, if he's a boxer, just his muscles? On the contrary, he's at the same time a political being, constantly alive to heart-rending, burning, or happy events in the world.

An idea is a point of departure and no more. As soon as you elaborate it, it becomes transformed by thought.