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.

It is a sad and very melancholy scene, which must strike everyone who knows and feels that we also have to pass one day through the valley of the shadow of death, and “que la fin de la vie humaine, ce sont des larmes ou des cheveux blancs.” What lies beyond this is a great mystery that only God knows, but He has revealed absolutely through His word that there is a resurrection of the dead.

Someday death will take us to another star.

But by fighting the difficulties in which one finds oneself, an inner strength develops from within our heart, which improves in life's fight.

For the great doesn't happen through impulse alone, and is a succession of little things that are brought together.

One must spoil as many canvases as one succeeds with.

Just slap something on it when you see a blank canvas staring at you with a sort of imbecility.