One Day I Am Satisfied, The Next

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.

One Is Too Taken Up With All That One Sees And Hears In Paris, However Strong One Is, And What I Do Here [in Etretat] Will At Least Have The Merit Of Being Unlike Anyone Else, At Least I Believe So, Because It Will Simply Be The Expression Of What I, And Only I, Have Felt.

I Never Draw Except With Brush And Paint.

I Perhaps Owe Having Become A Painter To Flowers.

I Think Only Of My Painting, And If I Were To Drop It, I Think I'd Go Crazy.