How can I be useful, of what service can I be? There is something inside me, what can it be?

The heart of man is very much like the sea, it has its storms, it has its tides and in its depths it has its pearls too

Well, I dare not allow myself any illusions, and I am afraid it may never happen that Father and Mother will really appreciate my art. It is not their fault; we do not see the same things with the same eyes, or have the same thoughts raised in us by them. They will never be able to understand what painting is.

Ah! My dear friend painting is to us what the music of Berlioz and Wagner was before us - a consolatory art for sore hearts! And yet there are only a few like you and me who feel it!!!

For instead of trying to reproduce exactly what I see before me, I make more arbitrary use of colour to express myself more forcefully.

I never get tired of the blue sky.

I am risking my life for my work, and half my reason has gone.