My Nervous System Is Enfeebled,

Sometimes I Imagine Colors As If They Were Living Ideas, Being Of Pure Reason With Which To Communicate. Nature Is Not On The Surface, It Is Deep Down.

Everything Vanishes, Falls Apart, Doesn't It? Nature Is Always The Same But Nothing In Her That Appears To Us Lasts. Our Art Must Render The Thrill Of Her Permanence, Along With Her Elements, The Appearance Of All Her Changes. It Must Give Us A Taste Of Her Eternity.

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 Day Is Coming When A Single Carrot, Freshly Observed, Will Set Off A Revolution.

One Can Do Good Things Without Being Very Much Of A Harmonist Or A Colourist. It Is Sufficient To Have A Sense Of Art - And This Sense Is Doubtless The Horror Of The Bourgeois.