A Good Impression Is Lost So Quickly.

I Would Like To Paint The Way A Bird Sings.

One's Better Off Alone, And Yet There Are So Many Things That Are Impossible To Fathom On One's Own. In Fact It's A Terrible Business And The Task Is A Hard One.

When It Is Dark, It Seems To Me As If I Were Dying, And I Can't Think Any More.

I Do Have A Dream, A Tableau Of The Bathing Place Of La Grenouillère, For Which I've Done Some Bad Pochades (sketches), But It Is A Dream. Renoir, Who Have Just Spent A Couple Of Months Here, Also Wants To Paint This Subject.

I Waited For The Idea To Consolidate, For The Grouping And Composition Of Themes To Settle Themselves In My Brain.