Fruits ... like having their portrait painted. They seem to sit there and ask your forgiveness for fading. Their thought is given off with their perfumes. They come with all their scents, they speak of the fields they have left, the rain which has nourished them, the daybreaks they have seen.

It's so fine and yet so terrible to stand in front of a blank canvas.

When I judge art, I take my painting and put it next to a God made object like a tree or flower. If it clashes, it is not art.

With a painter's temperament, all that's needed are the means of expression sufficient to be intelligible to the wide public.

What I am trying to translate to you is more mysterious, it is entwined in the very roots of being, in the implacable source of sensations.

Genius is the ability to renew one's emotions in daily experience.

Pure drawing is an abstraction. Drawing and colour are not distinct, everything in nature is coloured.