They Are Not Men, They Are Not

What Do You Think An Artist Is? An Imbecile Who Has Only His Eyes If He's A Painter, Or Ears If He's A Musician, Or A Lyre At Every Level Of His Heart If He's A Poet, Or Even, If He's A Boxer, Just His Muscles? On The Contrary, He's At The Same Time A Political Being, Constantly Alive To Heart-rending, Burning, Or Happy Events In The World.

Everything Is A Miracle. It Is A Miracle That One Does Not Dissolve In One's Bath Like A Lump Of Sugar.

I Am Always Doing That Which I Cannot Do, In Order That I May Learn How To Do It.

I Want To Create A Cat Like The Real Cats I See Crossing The Streets, Not Like Those You See In Houses. They Have Nothing In Common. The Cat Of The Streets Has Bristling Fur. It Runs Like A Fiend, And If It Looks At You, You Think It Is Going To Jump In Your Face.

I See For Others... In Order To Put On Canvas The Sudden Apparitions Which Come To Me.