The Air You Breathe In

I Have Been, Or Seemed, Hard With Everyone Because I Was Carried Away By A Sort Of Brutality Born Of My Distrust In Myself And My Ill-humor. I Have Felt So Badly Equipped, So Soft, In Spite Of The Fact That My Attitude Towards Art Seemed To Me So Just. I Was Disgusted With Everyone, And Especially Myself.

I Don't Admit That A Woman Draws That Well!

My Art, What Do You Want To Say About It? Do You Think You Can Explain The Merits Of A Picture To Those Who Do Not See Them? . . . I Can Find The Best And Clearest Words To Explain My Meaning, And I Have Spoken To The Most Intelligent People About Art, And They Have Not Understood; But Among People Who Understand, Words Are Not Necessary, You Say Humph, He, Ha And Everything Has Been Said.

There Is Love, And There Is Work; And We Have Only One Heart.

Art Is Vice. You Don't Marry It Legitimately, You Rape It.