I Am Not Altogether Displeased With The

Fruits ... Like Having Their Portrait Painted. They Seem To Sit There And Ask Your Forgiveness For Fading. Their Thought Is Given Off With Their Perfumes. They Come With All Their Scents, They Speak Of The Fields They Have Left, The Rain Which Has Nourished Them, The Daybreaks They Have Seen.

Talks On Art Are Almost Useless. The Work Which Goes To Bring Progress In One's Own Subject Is Sufficient Compensation For The Incomprehension Of Imbeciles.

I Wish To Die Painting.

Don't Be An Art Critic. Paint. There Lies Salvation.

May I Repeat What I Told You Here: Treat Nature By Means Of The Cylinder, The Sphere, The Cone, Everything Brought Into Proper Perspective So That Each Side Of An Object Or A Plane Is Directed Towards A Central Point. Lines Parallel To The Horizon Give Breadth... Lines Perpendicular To This Horizon Give Depth. But Nature For Us Men Is More Depth Than Surface, Whence The Need To Introduce Into Our Light Vibrations, Represented By The Reds And Yellows, A Sufficient Amount Of Blueness To Give The Feel Of Air.