Christ is more of an artist than the artists; he works in the living spirit and the living flesh, he makes men instead of statues.

As long as autumn lasts, I shall not have hands, canvas and colors enough to paint the beautiful things I see.

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.

The laws of the colors are unutterably beautiful, just because they are not accidental.

To try to understand the real significance of what the great artists, the serious masters, tell us in their masterpieces, that leads to God; one man wrote or told it in a book; another, in a picture.

By working hard, old man, I hope to make something good one day. I haven't yet, but I am pursuing it and fighting for it . . . .

And love makes one calmer about many things, and in that way, one is more fit for one's work.