I know for sure that I have an instinct for color, and that it will come to me more and more, that painting is in the very marrow of my bones.

Normality is a paved road: It’s comfortable to walk, but no flowers grow on it.

Though I am often in the depths of misery, there is still calmness, pure harmony and music inside me.

And painted portraits have a life of their own that comes from deep in the soul of the painter and where the machine can't go.

One may have a blazing hearth in one's soul, and yet no one ever comes to sit by it.

...and then, I have nature and art and poetry, and if that is not enough, what is enough?

There is the same difference in a person before and after he is in love, as there is in an unlighted lamp and one that is burning.