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I would like to leave this world and never return. I severed my ear, but how I wish that I had severed my heart. I shall never amount to anything.

Vincent Van Gogh

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Vincent Van Gogh
Age: 37 †
Born: 1853
Born: March 30
Died: 1890
Died: July 29
Botanical Illustrator
Draftsperson
Drawer
Etcher
Graphic Artist
Lithographer
Painter
Printmaker
Brooklyn
New York
Vincent Willem van Gogh
Vincent-Willem van Gogh
van Gogh
Fan-kao
van gogh
Vincent Van Gogh
Wensheng Fangu
Fan-ku
v. van gogh
Fan'gao
Fangu
Gogh
j. van gogh
World
Leave
Shall
Wish
Anything
Heart
Severed
Never
Ears
Would
Return
Like
Amount

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I am working with the enthusiasm of a man from Marseilles eating bouillabaisse, which shouldn't come as a surprise to you because I am busy painting huge sunflowers.
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What molting time is to birds, so adversity or misfortune is ... for us humans.
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The victory one would gain after a whole life of work and effort is better than one that is gained sooner.
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I want to paint men and women with that something of the external which the halo used to symbolize, and which we now seek to give by the actual radiance and vibrancy of our colorings.
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We are having wind and rain here, and I am very glad not to be alone. I work from memory on bad days, and that would not do if I were alone.
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So often, a visit to a bookshop has cheered me, and reminded me that there are good things in the world.
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It was Richepin who said somewhere, 'The love of art means loss of real love'... True, but on the other hand, real love makes you disgusted with art.
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There is no blue without yellow and without orange, and if you put in blue, then you must put in yellow, and orange too, mustn't you? Oh well, you will tell me that what I write to you are only banalities.
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To express hope by some star, the eagerness of a soul by a sunset radiance. Certainly there is nothing in that of stereoscopic realism, but is it not something that actually exists?
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Painters understand nature and love it, and teach us to see.
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Surely the true path is to dive deep into nature.
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I never get tired of the blue sky.
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There are so many people, especially among our comrades, who imagine that words are nothing - on the contrary, isn't it true that saying a thing well is as interesting and as difficult as painting it?
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Even this artistic life, which we know is not real life, appears to me to be so alive and so vital that it would be a form ingratitude not to be content with it.
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I can't work without a model. I won't say I turn my back on nature ruthlessly in order to turn a study into a picture, arranging the colors, enlarging and simplifying but in the matter of form I am too afraid of departing from the possible and the true.
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Let me stop there, but my God, how beautiful Shakespeare is, who else is as mysterious as he is his language and method are like a brush trembling with excitement and ecstasy. But one must learn to read, just as one must learn to see and learn to live.
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One may have a blazing hearth in one's soul and yet no one ever came to sit by it. Passers-by see only a wisp of smoke from the chimney and continue on their way.
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...to look at the stars always makes me dream, as simply as I dream over the black dots of a map representing towns and villages. Why, I ask myself, should the shining dots of the sky not be as accessible as the black dots on the map of France?
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The more I become decomposed, the more sick and fragile I am, the more I become an artist.
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I feel the need of relations and friendship, of affection, of friendly intercourse.... I cannot miss these things without feeling, as does any other intelligent man, a void and a deep need.
Vincent Van Gogh