It always strikes me, and it is very peculiar, that, whenever we see the image of indescribable and unutterable desolation—of loneliness, poverty, and misery, the end and extreme of things—the thought of God comes into one's mind.

We spent our whole lives in unconsous excercise of the art of expressing our thoughts with the help of words

There is no blue without yellow and without orange.

When I have a terrible need of - shall I say the word - religion. Then I go out and paint the stars.

It is not the language of painters but the language of nature which one should listen to, the feeling for the things themselves, for reality is more important than the feeling for pictures.

I am risking my life for my work, and half my reason has gone.

I experience a period of frightening clarity in those moments when nature is so beautiful. I am no longer sure of myself, and the paintings appear as in a dream.