A line comes into being. It goes out for a walk, so to speak, aimlessly for the sake of the walk.

The painter should not paint what he sees, but what will be seen.

It is a great difficulty and a great necessity to have to start with the smallest.

Everything vanishes round me and good works rise from me of their own accord.

First of all, the art of living; then as my ideal profession, poetry and philosophy, and as my real profession, plastic arts; in the last resort, for lack of income, illustrations.

My hand is entirely the implement of a distant sphere. It is not my head that functions but something else, something higher, something somewhere remote. I must have great friends there, dark as well as bright. They are all very kind to me.

Art does not reproduce the visible; it makes visible.