Edvard Munch

Disease, insanity, and death were the black angels that guarded my cradle and accompanied me all my life.

Art comes from the inside. When a person is very sad, he can paint a beautiful picture.

I walked along the road with two friends – the sun went down – I felt a gust of melancholy – suddenly the sky turned a bloody red. I stopped, leaned against the railing, tired to death – over the blue-black fjord and city hung blood and tongues of fire – My friends walked on, and I stood there trembling with anxiety – and I felt an endless scream passing through nature.

The camera cannot compete with the brush and palette, it is far too clumsy.

The Scream was painted in a time of great emotional turmoil. I was walking along the road at sunset, and the sky turned blood red. I felt an infinite scream pass through nature.

Through art I have tried to get clarity in my life. I have tried to find a light in the darkness.

Man is a part of nature, and his feelings are part of nature.

The trees are like spectres, the sky is like a bleeding wound.

I paint not what I see, but what I feel.

My art is really a voluntary confession and an attempt to make clear to myself my relationship to life.

The colours scream. They are the scream itself.

I hear the scream of nature.

The soul is an entity that exists in a state of eternal flux.

All art, literature, and music must be born in the heart and soul of man.

When the sun goes down, it is as if the whole world is a giant mouth screaming.

I sense the presence of death everywhere.

My art is a diary of my life.

The air was like a shriek.

It is not the eye that sees, but the soul.

I have created a new art that will shake the world.