You come to nature with all her theories, and she knocks them all flat.

One morning, one of us ran out of the black, it was the birth of Impressionism.

An artist, under pain of oblivion, must have confidence in himself, and listen only to his real master: Nature.

It's with my brush that I make love.

If the painter works directly from nature, he ultimately looks for nothing but momentary effects; he does not try to compose, and soon he gets monotonous.

Nothing costs so little, goes so far, and accomplishes so much as a single act of merciful service.

A painter who has the feel of breasts and buttocks is saved.