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

In the end we shall have had enough of cynicism, skepticism and humbug, and we shall want to live more musically.

I would like to leave this world and never return. I severed my ear, but how I wish that I had severed my heart. I shall never amount to anything.

There is but one Paris and however hard living may be here, and if it became worse and harder even—the French air clears up the brain and does good—a world of good.

Even this artistic life, which we know is not real life, appears to me to be so alive and so vital that it would be a form ingratitude not to be content with it.

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

Purity of soul and impurity of body can go together.