Claude Monet

I must have flowers, always, and always.

The light constantly changes, and that alters the atmosphere and beauty of things every minute.

I am chasing the merest sliver of color. It is my own fault, I want to grasp the intangible.

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

I would like to paint the way a bird sings.

My garden is my most beautiful masterpiece.

I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.

The motif is insignificant for me; what I want to reproduce is what exists between the motif and me.

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

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

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

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

I'm in a foul mood, furious at myself. It's going very badly, I'm not pleased with anything I do, and I destroy as fast as I paint.

The richness I achieve comes from Nature, the source of my inspiration.

I can only draw what I see.

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

I am working very hard, struggling with a series of different effects, but at this time of year the sun sets so fast that I cannot keep up with it.

The fog is so thick that you can't see the end of your nose. It's really too much! I'm completely disheartened.

I'm having a very bad time just now; everything is going wrong, and I'm very much afraid I shall have to give it all up.

I am absolutely exhausted and have not had a moment's rest. I am completely worn out.