Night is here. All is at rest. My eyes close in order to see without actually understanding the dream that flees before men infinite space; and I experience the languorous sensation produced by the mournful procession of my hopes.

Art is either revolution or plagiarism

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

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

Where do we come from? What are We? Where are we going?

Do not copy nature too much. Art is an abstraction.

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