Life etches itself onto our faces as we grow older, showing our violence, excesses or kindnesses.
I envy the poet. He is encouraged toward drunkenness and wallows with nubile wenches while the painter must endure wretchedness and pain for his art.
I can't paint the way they want me to paint and they know that too.
Old age is a hindrance to creativity but cannot crush my youthful spirit.
A painting is not made to be sniffed.
Choose only one master - Nature.