But you people do not understand me, and I am afraid you never will.

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

My brushwork is quite unsystematic. I slam the paint on in all sorts of ways and leave each result to take care of itself.

The more ugly, older, more cantankerous, more ill and poorer I become, the more I try to make amends by making my colours more vibrant, more balanced and beaming.

Conscience is a man's compass, and though the needle sometimes deviates, though one often perceives irregularities in directing one's course by it, still one must try to follow its direction.

No, no thought to the winnings. One loves because one loves.

Whatever plan one makes, there is a hidden difficulty somewhere.