Art is a revolt against fate. All art is a revolt against man's fate.

Art is the stored honey of the human soul, gathered on wings of misery and travail.

I don't think there's any artist of any value who doesn't doubt what they're doing.

Time extracts various values from a painter's work. When these values are exhausted the pictures are forgotten, and the more a picture has to give, the greater it is.

Wherever art appears, life disappears.