“Treat nature by the cylinder, the sphere, the cone, everything in proper perspective so that each side of an object or a plane is directed towards a central point.”

There is a logic of colors, and it is with this alone, and not with the logic of the brain, that the painter should conform.

Everything in nature takes its form from the sphere, the cone and the cylinder.

Michelangelo is a constructor, and Rafael an artist who, great as he is, is always limited by the model. When he tries to be thoughtful he falls below the niveau of his great rival.

It’s so fine and yet so terrible to stand in front of a blank canvas.

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

Painting, like any art, comprises a technique, a workmanlike handling of material, but the accuracy of a tone and the fictitious combination of effects depend entirely on the choice made by the artist.

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.

I have this eerie feeling that by the time I’m 33, reality will not exist in the same plane as it did before.

I always woke up before the plane landed.

I don’t know where hell is … another dimension, perhaps, or another plane of reality.

Journeys are the midwives of thought. Few places are more conducive to internal conversations than moving planes, ships or trains.

Wake up, Carolee, the plane is waiting for us, we have to get to the game.

Reached only by boat, seaplane and, with less surety, telephone-this is Fire Island.

Every novel is an ideal plane inserted into the realm of reality.

The first time I went inside a plane, I was 15 years old and I had so much fun.