When the physical organism breaks up, the soul survives. It then takes on another body.

In art, there are only two types of people: revolutionaries and plagiarists. And in the end, doesn't the revolutionary's work become official, once the State takes it over?

Oh yes! He loved yellow, did good Vincent...When the two of us were together in Arles, both of us insane, and constantly at war over beautiful colors, I adored red; where could I find a perfect vermilion?

Art is either revolution or plagiarism

Color! What a deep and mysterious language, the language of dreams.

Life has no meaning unless one lives it with a will, at least to the limit of one's will. Virtue, good, evil are nothing but words, unless one takes them apart in order to build something with them; they do not win their true meaning until one knows how to apply them.

Beautiful colors exist, though we do not realize it, and are glimpsed behind the veil that modesty has drawn over them.