Look at life with the eyes of a child.

There are moments on most days when I feel a deep and sincere gratitude, when I sit at the open window, and there is a blue sky or moving clouds.

I have never been able to carry out any work coolly. On the contrary it is done, so to speak, with my own blood. Anyone who looks at my works must be able to sense that.

Culture arises only when the individual fulfills his cycle of obligations. If everyone recognizes and fulfills his cycle of obligations, genuineness emerges. The culture of a whole nation can in the final analysis be built upon nothing else.

It seems to me nowadays that the most important task for someone who is aging is to spread love and warmth whenever possible.

There must be understanding between the artist and the people. In the best ages of art that has always been the case. Genius can probably run on ahead and seek out new ways. But the good artists who follow after genius — and I count myself among these — have to restore the lost connection once more.

Growing old is partly an inescapable process of accommodation and adjustment.

I have received a commission to make a poster against war. That is a task that makes me happy. Some may say a thousand times that this is not pure art.... but as long as I can work, I want to be effective with my art.

No longer diverted by other emotions, I work the way a cow grazes.

I am afraid of dying-but being dead, oh yes, that to me is often an appealing prospect.

Bisexuality is almost a necessary factor in artistic production at any rate, the tinge of masculinity within me helped me in my work.

The development of the national spirit in its present form leads into blind alleys. Some condition must be found which preserves the life of the nation, but rules out the fatal rivalry among nations.

Men without joy seem like corpses.

When Michelangelo was an old man, he drew himself sitting in a child's pushcart.

If all the people who have been hurt by the war were to exclude joy from their lives, it would almost be as if they had died.

Where do all the women who have watched so carefully over the lives of their beloved ones get the heroism to send them to face the cannon?