I sometimes have a horrible fear of turning up a canvas of mine. I’m always afraid of finding a monster in place of the precious jewels I thought I had put there!

I began to understand my sensations, to know what I wanted, at around the age of forty – but only vaguely.

I remember that, although I was full of fervour, I didn’t have the slightest inkling, even at forty, of the deeper side to the movement we were pursuing by instinct. It was in the air!

Don’t be afraid of putting on color, refine the work little by little.

The whole world is beautiful, the art is in the seeing.

I regard it as a waste of time to think only of selling: one forgets one’s art and exaggerates one’s value.

I think when one has talent one finally breaks through; so don’t pass up any opportunity to do some work.

Don’t be afraid in nature: one must be bold, at the risk of having been deceived and making mistakes.

All the sorrow, all the bitterness, all the sadness, I forget them and ignore them in the joy of working.

It does not astonish me that the critics in London relegate me to the lowest rank. Alas! I fear that they are only too justified!