I felt my energy return and that I said to myself, in any event I'll recover from it, I'll pick up my pencil that I put down in my great discouragement and I'll get back to drawing, and from then on, it seems to me, everything has changed for me.

One can speak poetry just by arranging colors well, just as one can say comforting things in music.

I never get tired of the blue sky.

Let me stop there, but my God, how beautiful Shakespeare is, who else is as mysterious as he is; his language and method are like a brush trembling with excitement and ecstasy. But one must learn to read, just as one must learn to see and learn to live.

...and then, I have nature and art and poetry, and if that is not enough, what is enough?

If your inner voice is telling you that you can't paint, by all means, hurry up and paint and silence the voice.

What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?