But I owe something to Vincent, and that is, in the consciousness of having been useful to him, the confirmation of my own original ideas about painting. And also, at difficult moments, the remembrance that one finds others unhappier than oneself.

Poor artist! You gave away part of your soul when you painted the picture which you are now trying to dispose of.

Life is merely a fraction of a second. An infinitely small amount of time to fulfill our desires, our dreams, our passions.

Civilization is what makes you sick.

It is the eye of ignorance that assigns a fixed and unchangeable color to every object; beware of this stumbling block.

Machines have come, art has fled, and I am far from thinking photography can help us.

Life has no meaning unless one lives it with a will, at least to the limit of one's will.