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My father was temperamentally nervous and obsessively religious—to the point of psychoneurosis. From him I inherited the seeds of madness. The angels of fear, sorrow, and death stood by my side since the day I was born.

Edvard Munch

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Edvard Munch
Age: 80 †
Born: 1863
Born: January 1
Died: 1944
Died: January 1
Draftsperson
Drawer
Graphic Artist
Painter
Printmaker
E. Munch
Munch
edv. munch
Father
Sorrow
Obsessively
Death
Side
Inherited
Sides
Stood
Since
Angels
Religious
Seeds
Point
Madness
Born
Nervous
Fear
Angel
Temperamentally

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The Academies of Art are nothing but great painting factories - those with talent are fed in at one end, and they come out as mechanical painting machines.
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Some colors reconcile themselves to one another, others just clash.
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My art is rooted in a single reflection: why am I not as others are? ... my art gives meaning to my life.
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Your face encompasses the beauty of the whole earth. Your lips, as red as ripening fruit, gently part as if in pain. It is the smile of a corpse. Now the hand of death touches life. The chain is forged that links the thousand families that are dead to the thousand generations to come.
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I have no fear of photography as long as it cannot be used in heaven and in hell.
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Youth must go ahead and prosper. These young painters are all very talented people, but they all paint frescoes.
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Without anxiety and illness I would have been like a ship without a rudder.
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The rich man who gives, steals twice over. First he steals the money and then the hearts of men.
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At different moments you see with different eyes. You see differently in the morning than you do in the evening. In addition, how you see is also dependent on your emotional state. Because of this, a motif can be seen in many different ways, and this is what makes art interesting.
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All art, literature, and music must be born in your heart's blood. Art is your heart's blood.
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I painted the picture, and in the colors the rhythm of the music quivers. I painted the colors I saw.
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Without fear and disease, my life would be like a boat without oars.
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I felt as if there were invisible threads connecting us - I felt the invisible strands of her hair still winding around me - and thus as she disappeared completely beyond the sea - I still felt it, felt the pain where my heart was bleeding - because the threads could not be severed.
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My fear of life is necessary to me, as is my illness. Without anxiety and illness, I am a ship without a rudder. My art is grounded in reflections over being different from others. My sufferings are part of my self and my art. They are indistinguishable from me, and their destruction would destroy my art. I want to keep those sufferings
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To die is as if one's eyes had been put out and one cannot see anything any more. Perhaps it is like being shut in a cellar. One is abandoned by all. They have slammed the door and are gone. One does not see anything and notices only the damp smell of putrefaction.
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I have been given a unique role to play on this earth: given to me by a life filled with sickness, ill-starred circumstances and my profession as an artist. It is a life that contains nothing that resembles happiness, and moreover does not even desire happiness.
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The viewers must come to understand the sacredness of painting, so they will remove their hats as if they were in church.
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A work of art can only come from the interior of man. Art is the form of the image formed upon the nerves, heart, brain and eye of man.
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Certainly a chair can be just as interesting as a human being. But first the chair must be perceived by a human being... You should not paint the chair, but only what someone has felt about it.
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There is a battle that goes on between men and women. Many people call it love.
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