We Must Not Be Content To Memorize

Here, On The River's Verge, I Could Be Busy For Months Without Changing My Place, Simply Leaning A Little More To Right Or Left.

The Artist Must Scorn All Judgment That Is Not Based On An Intelligent Observation Of Character. He Must Beware Of The Literary Spirit Which So Often Causes A Painting To Deviate From Its True Path - The Concrete Study Of Nature - To Lose Itself All Too Long In Intangible Speculations.

The Sun Penetrates Me Soundlessly Like A Distant Friend That Stirs Up My Laziness, Fertilizes It. We Bring Forth Life.

A Puny Body Weakens The Soul.

I Wish To Die Painting.