My Life Has Been Nothing But A

I Don’t Think I’m Made For Any Earthly Kind Of Pleasure.

Nothing In The Whole World Is Of Interest To Me But My Painting And My Flowers.

I've Only Myself To Blame For It, My Impotence Most Of All And My Weakness. If I Do Any Good Work Now It Will Be Only By Chance.

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

I Can Only Draw What I See.