If I Think, Everything Is Lost.

It's So Fine And Yet So Terrible To Stand In Front Of A Blank Canvas.

Here On The Edge Of The River, The Motifs Are Very Plentiful, The Same Subject Seen From A Different Angle Gives A Subject For Study Of The Highest Interest And So Varied That I Think I Could Be Occupied For Months Without Changing My Place, Simply Bending A Little More To The Right Or Left.

If I Were Called Upon To Define Briefly The Word Art, I Should Call It The Reproduction Of What The Senses Preceive In Nature, Seen Through The Veil Of The Soul.

I'll Always Be Grateful To The Public Of Intelligent Amateurs.

To Paint Is Not To Copy The Object Slavishly, It Is To Grasp A Harmony Among Many Relationships.