What A Horrible Thing Yellow Is.

There Is A Kind Of Success That Is Indistinguishable From Panic.

Truth Is Never Ugly When One Can Find In It What One Needs.

The Air We See In The Paintings Of The Old Masters Is Never The Air We Breathe.

I Frequently Lock Myself In My Studio. I Do Not Often See The People I Love, And In The End I Shall Suffer For It... Painting Is One's Private Life.

It Seems To Me That Today, If The Artist Wishes To Be Serious - To Cut Out A Little Original Niche For Himself, Or At Least Preserve His Own Innocence Of Personality - He Must Once More Sink Himself In Solitude. There Is Too Much Talk And Gossip; Pictures Are Apparently Made, Like Stock-market Prices, By Competition Of People Eager For Profit; In Order To Do Anything At All We Need (so To Speak) The Wit And Ideas Of Our Neighbors As Much As The Businessmen Need The Funds Of Others To Win On The Market. All This Traffic Sharpens Our Intelligence And Falsifies Our Judgment.