When I Look At Nature I Feel

Lots Of People Will Protest That It's Quite Unreal And That I'm Out Of My Mind, But That's Just Too Bad

I'm Quite Content: Although What I'm Doing Is Far From Being As I Should Like, I Am Complemented Often Enough All The Same.

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

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.

Now, More Than Ever, I Realize Just How Illusory My Undeserved Success Has Been. I Still Hold Out Some Hope Of Doing Better, But Age And Unhappiness Have Sapped My Strength.