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.

The simplest subjects are the immortal ones.

I consider that women who are authors, lawyers, and politicians are monsters.

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

The pain passes, but the beauty remains.

I have a predilection for painting that lends joyousness to a wall.

I look at a nude. There are myriads of tiny tints. I must find the ones that will make the flesh on my canvas live and quiver.