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

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

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

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

I am a great artist and I know it. It's because of what I am that I have endured so much suffering, so as to pursue my vocation, otherwise I would consider myself a rogue - which is what many people think I am, for that matter.

The missionary is no longer a man, a conscience. He is a corpse, in the hands of a confraternity, without family, without love, without any of the sentiments that are dear to us. Emasculated, in a sense, by his vow of chastity, he offers us the distressing spectacle of a man deformed and impotent or engaged in a stupid and useless struggle with the sacred needs of the flesh, a struggle which, seven times out of ten, leads him to sodomy, the gallows, or prison.

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.