I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.

Color is my day-long obsession, joy and torment.

No one is an artist unless he carries his picture in his head before painting it, and is sure of his method and composition.

I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.

My life has been nothing but a failure.

I am following Nature without being able to grasp her, I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.

Everyone discusses my art and pretends to understand, as if it were necessary to understand, when it is simply necessary to love.

People discuss my art and pretend to understand as if it were necessary to understand, when it's simply necessary to love.

Among the seascapes, I am doing the regattas of Le Havre with many figures on the beach and the outer harbor covered with small sails.

Etretat is becoming more and more amazing. Now is the real moment: the beach with all its fine boats; it is superb, and I am enraged not to be more skillful in rendering all this. I would need two hands and hundreds of canvases.

Eventually, my eyes were opened, and I really understood nature. I learned to love at the same time.

Finally here is a beautiful day, a superb sun like at Giverny. So I worked without stopping, for the tide at this moment is just as I need it for several motifs. This has bucked me up a bit.

For a long time, I have hoped for better days, but alas, today it is necessary for me to lose all hope. My poor wife suffers more and more. I do not think it is possible to be any weaker.

I am installed in a fairylike place. I do not know where to poke my head; everything is superb, and I would like to do everything, so I use up and squander lots of color, for there are trials to be made.

I am working, but when one has ceased to do seascape, it is the devil afterward - very difficult; it changes at every instant, and here the weather varies several times in the same day.

I do have a dream, a painting, the baths of La Grenouillere for which I've done a few bad rough sketches, but it is a dream. Renoir, who has just spent two months here, also wants to do this painting.

I have always worked better alone and from my own impressions.

I have never had a studio, and I do not understand shutting oneself up in a room. To draw, yes; to paint, no.

I pass my time in the open air on the beach when it is really heavy weather or when the boats go out fishing.

I was definitely born under an evil star. I have just been thrown out of the inn where I was staying, naked as a worm.

I wear myself out and struggle with the sun. And what a sun here! It would be necessary to paint here with gold and gemstones. It is wonderful.

I will do water - beautiful, blue water.

It is extraordinary to see the sea; what a spectacle! She is so unfettered that one wonders whether it is possible that she again become calm.

My wish is to stay always like this, living quietly in a corner of nature.

There, the grand lines of mountain and sea are admirable, and apart from the exotic vegetation that is here, Monte Carlo is certainly the most beautiful spot of the entire coast: the motifs there are more complete, more picturelike, and consequently easier to execute.

Try to forget what objects you have before you - a tree, a house, a field, or whatever. Merely think, 'Here is a little square of blue, here an oblong of pink, here a streak of yellow,' and paint it just as it looks to you, the exact color and shape, until it gives you your own impression of the scene before you.

I must have flowers, always, and always.

I had so much fire in me and so many plans.

Ones better off alone and yet there are so many things that are impossible to fathom on ones own. In fact its a terrible business and the task is a hard one.

Color is my day long obsession joy and torment.

It's on the strength of observation and reflection that one finds a way. So we must dig and delve unceasingly.

It is on the strength of observation and reflection that one finds a way. So we must dig and delve unceasingly.

I like to take pictures of lots of things: people-such as my nephews, my dogs, and just interesting objects that I see. For instance, I might take a picture of flowers by the side of the road, an old sign or a fence.

The mare set off for home with the speed of a swallow, and going as smoothly and silently. I never had dreamed of such a motion, fluent and graceful, and ambient, soft as the breeze flitting over the flowers, but swift as the summer lightening.

I don't like painting flowers in my music. I like painting guts and pain.

For myself I hold no preferences among flowers, so long as they are wild, free, spontaneous. Bricks to all greenhouses! Black thumb and cutworm to the potted plant!

I'm a hopeless romantic, and very much the person in a relationship to go: If things are going well, I'll buy the flowers, remember the dates of things, plan fun nights out.

Because we are in a war situation, this can sometimes be dangerous work. But guys like A.D. Flowers and his technicians just take it in stride and get on with the job. In four years, we've never had a serious accident or injury working with all the explosions.

The earth laughs in flowers.

With a few flowers in my garden, half a dozen pictures and some books, I live without envy.

And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns.

Flowers grow out of dark moments.

Children in a family are like flowers in a bouquet: there's always one determined to face in an opposite direction from the way the arranger desires.

The cloning of humans is on most of the lists of things to worry about from Science, along with behaviour control, genetic engineering, transplanted heads, computer poetry and the unrestrained growth of plastic flowers.

Little things seem nothing, but they give peace, like those meadow flowers which individually seem odorless but all together perfume the air.

Flowers are the sweetest things God ever made and forgot to put a soul into.

I went across the fields to avoid the straight highways, along the firing lines where people were shooting at a small wooded hill, which is now covered with wooden crosses and lines of graves instead of spring flowers.

The advice I am giving always to all my students is above all to study the music profoundly... music is like the ocean, and the instruments are little or bigger islands, very beautiful for the flowers and trees.

Let a hundred flowers bloom.