I've reached the moment where the movement of my thought interests me more than the thought itself.

Art is a lie that makes us realize truth.

I always forbade everyone to clean my studios, dust them, not only for fear they would disturb my things, but especially because I always counted on the protection of dust. It's my ally. I always let it settle where it likes. It's like a layer of protection.

Everybody has the same energy potential. The average person wastes his in a dozen little ways. I bring mine to bear on one thing only: my paintings, and everything else is sacrificed to it...myself included.

Whether he wants it or not, man is the instrument of nature; she imposes on him character and appearance.

A painter is a man who paints what he sells; an artist, on the other hand, is a man who sells what he paints.

Everything is a miracle. It is a miracle that one does not dissolve in one's bath like a lump of sugar.