Paintings have a life of their own that derives from the painter's soul.

I often think of you all, one cannot do what one wants in life. The more you feel attached to a spot, the more ruthlessly you are compelled to leave it, but the memories remain, and one remembers - as in a looking glass, darkly - one's absent friends.

If you study Japanese art you see a man who is undoubtedly wise, philosophic and intelligent, who spends his time how? In studying the distance between the earth and the moon? No. In studying the policy of Bismarck? No. He studies a single blade of grass. But this blade of grass leads him to draw every plant and then the seasons, the wide aspects of the countryside, then animals, then the human figure. So he passes his life, and life is too short to do the whole.

I feel a certain calm. There is safety in the midst of danger. What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?

I am still far from being what I want to be, but with God's help I shall succeed.

The emotions are sometimes so strong that I work without knowing it. The strokes come like speech.

Be clearly aware of the stars and infinity on high. Then life seems almost enchanted after all.