What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?
How can I be useful, of what service can I be? There is something inside me, what can it be?
I want to paint what I feel, and feel what I paint.
We are having wind and rain here, and I am very glad not to be alone. I work from memory on bad days, and that would not do if I were alone.
If boyhood and youth are but vanity, must it not be our ambition to become men?
Conscience is a man's compass, and though the needle sometimes deviates, though one often perceives irregularities in directing one's course by it, still one must try to follow its direction.