In The End There Is Only Matisse.

I Want To Get To The Stage Where Nobody Can Tell How A Picture Of Mine Is Done. What's The Point Of That? Simply That I Want Nothing But Emotion Given Off By It.

Age Only Matters When One Is Aging. Now That I Have Arrived At A Great Age, I Might As Well Be Twenty.

Painting Isn't An Aesthetic Operation; It's A Form Of Magic Designed As Mediator Between This Strange Hostile World And Us.

What I Capture In Spite Of Myself Interests Me More Than My Own Ideas.

Often While Reading A Book One Feels That The Author Wouold Heave Preferred To Paint Rather Than To Wirte; One Can Sense The Pleasure He Derives From Describing A Landscape Or A Person, As If He Were Painting What He Is Saying, Because Deep In His Heart He Would Have Preferred To Use Brushes And Colors.