I think that I still have it in my heart someday to paint a bookshop with the front yellow and pink in the evening...like a light in the midst of the darkness.

But you people do not understand me, and I am afraid you never will.

In the fullness of artistic life there is, and remains, and will always come back at times, that homesick longing for the truly ideal life that can never come true.

The cure for him would be to take a good long look at some potato plants, which have lately had such a deep and distinctive colour and tone, instead of driving himself mad looking at pieces of yellow satin and gold leather.

The fishermen know that the sea is dangerous and the storm terrible, but they have never found these dangers sufficient reason for remaining ashore.

I feel a certain calm. There is safety in the midst of danger. What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?

What is drawing? It is working oneself through an invisible iron wall that seems to stand between what one feels and what one can do.