I paint what I think, not what I see.

He was an Afghan Hound name Kabul. Since him I have had other Afghan Hounds.... Perhaps I am looking for his ghost. He is the only one that I sometimes think about. Often, if he comes in to my mind when I am working, it alters what I do. The nose on the face I am drawing gets longer and sharper. The hair of the woman I am sketching gets longer and fluffy, resting against her cheeks like his ears rested against his head.

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

The fingerprints of the god who amused himself fashioning them - I can see them on any bone whatsoever.

Each time I undertake to paint a picture I have a sensation of leaping into space. I never know whether I shall fall on my feet. It is only later that I begin to estimate more exactly the the effect of my work.

That inspiration comes, does not depend on me. The only thing I can do is make sure it catches me working.

Style is besides the point. Nobody would pay attention if one always said the same thing, in the same words and the same tone of voice.