I Think Only Of My Painting, And

I Didn't Become An Impressionist. As Long As I Can Remember I Always Have Been One.

The Point Is To Know How To Use The Colours, The Choice Of Which Is, When All's Said And Done, A Matter Of Habit.

Without The Fog, London Would Not Be A Beautiful City. It Is Fog That Gives It Its Magnificent Amplitude...its Regular And Massive Blocks Become Grandiose In That Mysterious Mantle.

What Could Be Said About Me...a Man To Whom Only His Painting Matters? And Of Course His Garden And His Flowers As Well.

The Older I Become The More I Realize Of That I Have To Work Very Hard To Reproduce What I Search: The Instantaneous. The Influence Of The Atmosphere On The Things And The Light Scattered Throughout.