Nature has mysterious infinities and imaginative power. It is always varying the productions it offers to us. The artist himself is one of nature's means.

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?

Civilization is paralysis.

Art is either a plagiarist or a revolutionist.

A great sentiment can be rendered immediately. Dream on it and look for the simplest form in which you can express it.

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

Art is either plagiarism or revolution.