Without atmosphere a painting is nothing.
Life etches itself onto our faces as we grow older, showing our violence, excesses or kindnesses.
Old age is a hindrance to creativity but cannot crush my youthful spirit.
A work is finished when an artist realizes his intentions.
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.
An honest man always values earning honor over wealth.