“For an Impressionist to paint from nature is not to paint the subject, but to realize sensations.”

Tell me, do you think I’m going mad? I sometimes wonder, you know.

I could paint for a hundred years, a thousand years without stopping and I would still feel as though I knew nothing.

There is no model, there is only color.

When the color achieves richness, the form attains its fullness also.

Pure drawing is an abstraction.

It’s not just about looking and copying, it’s about feeling too.

You say a new era in art is preparing; you sensed it coming; continue your studies without weakening. God will do the rest.

Long live the sun which gives us such beautiful color.

A puny body weakens the soul.

You must think. The eye is not enough; it needs to think as well.

When the color achieves richness, the form attains its fullness also.

Sometimes I imagine colors as if they were living ideas, being of pure reason with which to communicate. Nature is not on the surface, it is deep down.

The artist makes things concrete and gives them individuality.

I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s not really possible to help others.

What is one to think of those fools who tell one that the artist is always subordinate to nature? Art is a harmony parallel with nature.

I advance all of my canvas at one time.

It is frightening when a woman finally realizes that there is no answer to the question ‘who am I’ except the voice inside herself.

I often feel, and ever more deeply I realize, that fate and character are the same conception.

If you’re feeling stressed or anxious and you don’t know why, ask yourself: What little thing led me here? Recently, I canceled on a friend because I was tired. I went to bed feeling stressed out, and I realized, I feel bad because I canceled.

Once I realized that the only thing I can actually control in this life is my own mind, how I choose to react, feel, and perceive, I felt immediately liberated.

We never completely comprehend ourselves, but we can do far more than comprehend.

It was only toward the middle of the twentieth century that the inhabitants of many European countries came, in general unpleasantly, to the realization that their fate could be influenced directly by intricate and abstruse books of philosophy.

I realized, the older I get, the more difficult life becomes. It’s not easier, it’s more difficult.

We can all be conned but at what point do we realize that we’re being conned and to what point do we allow ourselves to be conned?