Vincent van Gogh Quotes

But I cannot help thinking that the best way of knowing God is to love many things. Love this friend, this person, this thing, whatever you like, and you will be on the right road to understanding Him better, that is what I keep telling myself. But you must love with a sublime, genuine, profound sympathy, with devotion, with intelligence, and you must try all the time to understand Him more, better and yet more. That will lead to God, that will lead to an unshakeable faith.

There is a saying by Gustave Dore which I have always admired: "J'ai la patience d'un boeuf." [I have the patience of an ox]. I find in it a certain goodness, a certain resolute honesty, more, it has a deep meaning that saying, it is the word of a real artist. When one thinks of the men from whose heart such a saying sprang, all the arguments one too often hears of art dealers about "natural gifts", seem to become a terrible raven's croaking.

I would sooner paint people's eyes than cathedrals, for there is something in the eyes that is lacking in a cathedral - however solemn and impressive it may be. To my mind a man's soul, be it that of a poor beggar or of a streetwalker, is more interesting.

If you hear a voice within you saying, "You are not a painter," then by all means paint, boy, and that voice will be silenced, but only by working. He who goes to trends and tells his troubles when he feels like that loses part of his manliness, part of the best that's in him; your friends can only be those who themselves struggle against it, who raise your activity by their own example of action.

"It must be good to die in the knowledge that one has done some truthful work and to know that, as a result, one will live on in the memory of at least a few, and leave a good example for those who come after. A work that is good may not last for ever, but the thought expressed by it will. And the work itself will surely survive for a very long time. And those who come later can do no better than follow in the footsteps of such predecessors and copy their example."
"The Letters of Vincent van Gogh" (Amsterdam, 3 March 1878)

Deoarece există pierde-vară și pierde-vară, două tipuri care contrastează unul cu altul. Există acel tip de pierde-vară care se comportă astfel din pricina lenei și a slăbiciunii de caracter, din pricina josniciei firii sale, așa încât poți, dacă vei găsi de cuviință, să mă socotești ca atare. Există, apoi, și celălalt tip de pierde-vară, care se comportă astfel împotriva voinței sale, un ins mistuit pe dinăuntru de o nestăvilită dorință de acțiune, care nu face nimic deoarece se află în imposibilitatea de-a face ceva, fiindcă e ca și întemnițat, fiindcă nu are ceea ce i-ar trebui ca să fie productiv, fiindcă soarta potrivnică îi impune această situație; un astfel de om nu știe nici chiar el întotdeauna ce-ar putea să facă, dar simte din instinct: totuși sunt bun la ceva, presimt că am o rațiune de-a trăi! Știu c-aș putea fi un om complet diferit! La ce, oare, aș putea folosi, la ce, oare, aș putea sluji? Există ceva înlăuntrul meu, dar ce-o fi oare?

What I am in the eyes of most people — a nonetity, an eccentric, or an unpleasant person — somebody who has no position in society and never will have, in short, the lowest of the low.

I am so angry with myself because I cannot do what I should like to do, and at such a moment one feels as if one were lying bound hand and foot at the bottom of a deep dark well, utterly helpless.

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.

Let’s not forget that the little emotions are the great captains of our lives and we obey them without realizing it.

There was a sale here [in Paris] of drawings by Millet, I don't know whether I've already written to you about it. When I entered the room in Hôtel Drouot where they were exhibited, I felt something akin to: 'Put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground' [Bible-text]. You know that Millet lived [in his youth] in Gréville. Well, I don't know whether it was Gréville or Granville where the man I once told you about died. At any rate, I looked at Millet's drawings of 'The cliffs at Gréville', with redoubled attention.

Aspiro alle stelle che non posso raggiungere.

How difficult it is to be simple!

I confess I do not know why, but looking at the stars always makes me dream.

One must never trust the occasion when one is without difficulties.