In painting, as in the other arts, there's not a single process, no matter how insignificant, which can be reasonably made into a formula. You come to nature with your theories, and she knocks them all flat.

I just keep painting till I feel like pinching. Then I know it's right.

The simplest subjects are the immortal ones.

It's with my brush that I make love.

There are quite enough unpleasant things in life without the need to manufacture more.

And if out of a million visitors there is even one to whom art means something, that is enough to justify museums.

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