I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s not really possible to help others.

You say a new era in art is preparing; you sensed it coming; continue your studies without weakening. God will do the rest.

Painting is damned difficult – you always think you’ve got it, but you haven’t.

I allow no one to touch me.

There are two things in the painter, the eye and the mind; each of them should aid the other.

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

If isolation tempers the strong, it is the stumbling-block of the uncertain.

With a painter’s temperament, all that’s needed are the means of expression sufficient to be intelligible to the wide public.

People think how a sugar basin has no physiognomy, no soul. But it changes every day.

I am more a friend of art than a producer of painting.

Two sittings a day of my models and I’m totally exhausted.

Is art really the priesthood that demands the pure in heart who belong to it wholly?