I paint as if I were Rothschild.

There is a logic of colors, and it is with this alone, and not with the logic of the brain, that the painter should conform.

What is one to think of those fools who tell one that the artist is always subordinate to nature? Art is a harmony parallel with nature.

Tell me, do you think I'm going mad? I sometimes wonder, you know.

Right now a moment of time is passing by!... We must become that moment.

Here, on the river's verge, I could be busy for months without changing my place, simply leaning a little more to right or left.

Is art really the priesthood that demands the pure in heart who belong to it wholly?