Someone has a great fire in his soul and nobody ever comes to warm themselves at it, and passers-by see nothing but a little smoke at the top of the chimney and then go on their way.
Poetry surrounds us everywhere, but getting it onto paper is something that unfortunately doesn’t go as readily as looking.
Painting is a faith and that it brings with it the duty to pay no heed to public opinion — and that in it one conquers by perseverance and not by giving in.
No blue without yellow and without orange, and if you do blue, then do yellow and orange as well, surely.
Life itself likewise always turns towards one an infinitely meaningless, discouraging, dispiriting blank side on which there is nothing, any more than on a blank canvas. But however meaningless and vain, however dead life appears, the man of faith, of energy, of warmth, and who knows something, doesn’t let himself be fobbed off like that.
Let’s not forget that small emotions are the great captains of our lives, and that these we obey without knowing it.
It is not the language of painters but the language of nature which one should listen to, the feeling for the things themselves, for reality is more important than the feeling for pictures.
It is better to be fervent in spirit, even if one accordingly makes more mistakes, than narrow-minded and overly cautious.