To justify our likes and dislikes, we generally say that the work we dislike is not serious.

Cezanne was fated, as his passion was immense, to be immensely neglected, immensely misunderstood, and now, I think, immensely overrated.

On a series of apparently tiresome, flat sittings seeming to lead nowhere - one day something happens, the touches seem to 'take', the deaf canvas listens, your words flow and you have done something.

You must come again when you have less time.

Photography, like alcohol, should only be allowed to those who can do without it.

Nothing knits man to man like the frequent passage from hand to hand of cash.

The artist is he who can take something ordinary and wring out of it attar of roses.

Perhaps the importance that we must attach to the achievement of an artist or a group of artists may properly be measured by the answer to the following question: Have they so wrought that it will be impossible henceforth, for those who follow, ever again to act as if they had not existed?