What lives in art and is eternally living, is first of all the painter and then the painting.

Do you know what makes the prison disappear? Every deep, genuine affection. Being friends, being brothers, loving, that is what opens the prison, with supreme power, by some magic force. Without these one stays dead. But whenever affection is revived, there life revives.

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

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

I put my heart and my soul into my work, and have lost my mind in the process.

What I need is courage, and this often fails me. And it is also a fact that since my disease, when I am in the fields I am overwhelmed by a feeling of loneliness to such a horrible extent that I shy away from going out. But this will change all the same as time goes on. Only when I stand a painting before my easel do I feel somewhat alive. Never mind, this is going to change too, for now my health is so good that I suppose the physical part of me will gain the victory.

Often whole days pass without my speaking to anyone.