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

Pleasure must be found in study.

The approbation of others is a stimulus of which one must sometimes be wary. The feeling of one’s own strength makes one modest.

Painting from nature is not copying the object; it is realizing one’s sensations.

Light is a thing that cannot be reproduced, but must be represented by something else – by color.

All the theories mess you up inside.

I cannot attain the intensity that is unfolded before my senses. I have not the magnificent richness of colouring that animates nature.

Everything in nature is formed upon the sphere, the cone and the cylinder. One must learn to paint these simple figures and then one can do all that he may wish.

If I think, everything is lost.

I ask you to pray for me, for once age has overtaken us, we find consolation only in religion.

When I judge art, I take my painting and put it next to a God made object like a tree or flower. If it clashes, it is not art.

It took me 40 years to find out that painting is not sculpture.

Pure drawing is an abstraction. Drawing and colour are not distinct, everything in nature is coloured.

You have no idea how life-giving it is to find around one a youth that agrees not to bury one on the spot.

Chatter about art is almost always useless.

There is no such thing as an amateur artist as different from a professional artist. There is only good art and bad art.

A work of art which did not begin in emotion is not art.

The world is illusory, Only Brahman is real, Brahman is the world

The search “Who am I” ends in the annihilation of the illusory “I” and the Self which remains over will be as clear as a gooseberry in the palm of one’s hand.

Bliss is a thing which is always there and is not something which comes and goes. That which comes and goes is a creation of the mind.

Maybe I expected you to be something that you were just never going to be.

I think that in life, being is nothing but an illusion. If we acknowledge that and accept the fact that we are in between states, that we are moving, and this movement is the nature of our lives

Illusions must be out to death. That is the cruelty of growing up.

If my former self and my current self met for coffee, they’d get along OK, but they’d both probably walk out of the Starbucks shaking their heads and saying to themselves, “That guy is kinda delusional.”

The illusion which exalts us is dearer to us than ten thousand truths.