Well, I am ploughing on my canvases as they do on their fields (the peasants). It goes badly enough in our profession - in fact that has always been so, but at the moment it is very bad.

There is a sun, a light that for want of another word I can only call yellow, pale sulphur yellow, pale golden citron. How lovely yellow is!

It is the language of nature to which one has to listen.

It must be a good thing to die conscious of having performed some real good, and to know that by this work one will live, at least in the memory of some, and will have left a good example to those that come after. A work that is good-it may not be eternal, but the thought expressed in it is, and the work itself will certainly remain in existence for a long, long time; and if afterwards others arise, they can do no better than follow in the footsteps of such predecessors and do their work in the same way.

How rich art is, if one can only remember what one has seen, one is never empty of thoughts or truly lonely, never alone.

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

Don't lose heart if it's very difficult at times, everything will come out all right and nobody can in the beginning do as he wishes.