To believe in God for me is to feel that there is a God, not a dead one, or a stuffed one, who with irresistible force urges us towards more loving.
A weaver who has to direct and to interweave a great many little threads has no time to philosophize about it, but rather he is so absorbed in his work that he doesn’t think but acts, and he feels how things must go more than he can explain it.
The large majority of people are asleep and do not wish to wake up.
If you end up falling in love with someone, it’s because of them. If you end up hating someone, it’s because of you.
One must never let the fire go out in one’s soul, but keep it burning.
I believe more and more that God must not be judged on this earth. It is one of His sketches that has turned out badly.
I believe it is one’s duty to paint the rich and magnificent aspects of nature. We need gaiety and happiness, hope and love.
In general, and most especially with artists, I pay as much attention to the man who does the work, as to the work itself.
What a splendid thing watercolour is to express atmosphere and distance, so that the figure is surrounded by air and can breathe in it.
Love is something eternal.
My brushwork is quite unsystematic. I slam the paint on in all sorts of ways and leave each result to take care of itself.
Surely the true path is to dive deep into nature.
The sight of stars makes me dream.
Nature always begins by resisting the artist, but he who really takes it seriously does not allow that resistance to put him off his stride; on the contrary, it is that much more of a stimulus to fight for victory.
There certainly is an affinity between a person and his work, but it is not easy to define what this affinity is, and on that question many judge quite wrongly.
Even this artistic life, which we know is not real life, appears to me to be so alive and so vital that it would be a form ingratitude not to be content with it.
In the fullness of artistic life there is, and remains, and will always come back at times, that homesick longing for the truly ideal life that can never come true.
Art is but imitation of nature.
If one were to say but few words, though ones with meaning, one would do better than to say many that were only empty sounds, and just as easy to utter as they were of little use.
Life is not long for anybody, and the problem is only to make something of it.