The Source Of Genius Is Imagination Alone.

I Live In Company With A Body, A Silent Companion, Exacting And Eternal. He It Is Who Notes That Individuality Which Is The Seal Of The Weakness Of Our Race. My Soul Has Wings, But The Brutal Jailer Is Strict.

The So-called Conscientiousness Of The Majority Of Painters Is Only Perfection Applied To The Art Of Boring.

Everyone Knows That Yellow, Orange, And Red Suggest Ideas Of Joy And Plenty. I Can Paint You The Skin Of Venus With Mud, Provided You Let Me Surround It As I Will.

If Painters Left Nothing Of Themselves After Their Deaths, So That We Were Obliged To Rank Them As We Do Actors According To The Judgment Of Their Contemporaries, How Different Their Reputations Would Be From What Posterity Has Made Them!

At A Distance This Fine Oak Seems To Be Of Ordinary Size. But If I Place Myself Under Its Branches, The Impression Changes Completely: I See It As Big, And Even Terrifying In Its Bigness.