Colour is, on the evidence of language alone, very bound up with the feelings.

I used to worry about what life was for - now being alive seems sufficient reason.

Sometimes I find that in my happy moments I could not believe that I had ever been miserable.

I began to have an idea of my life, not as slow shaping of achievement to fit my preconceived purposes, but as the gradual discovery and growth of a purpose which I did not know.

Perhaps if one really knew when one was happy one would know the things that were necessary in one's life.

Love is not getting, but giving. It is sacrifice. And sacrifice is glorious!

It's weak and despicable to go on wanting things and not trying to get them.

The aim of the painting is that the eye should find out what it likes.

I want to draw and study a few things closely by feeling, not thinking.

I want to feel myself part of things, of the great drift and swirl: not cut off, missing things, like being sent to bed early as a child, the blinds being drawn while the sun and cheerful voices came through the chink from the garden.

Happiness not only needs no justification, but it is also the only final test of whether what I am doing is right for me. Only of course happiness is not the same as pleasure it includes the pain of losing as well as the pleasure of finding.

I came to the conclusion then that continual mindfulness. . . must mean, not a sergeantmajor-like drilling of thoughts, but a continual readiness to accept whatever came.

until you have, once at least, faced everything you know - the whole universe - with utter giving in, and let all that is 'not you' flow over and engulf you, there can be no lasting sense of security. Only by being prepared to accept annihilation can one escape from that spiritual 'abiding alone' which is in fact the truly death-like state.