If all life moves inevitably towards its end, then we must, during our own, colour it with our colours of love and hope.

Color is all. When color is right, form is right. Color is everything, color is vibration like music; everything is vibration.

If I create from the heart, nearly everything works; if from the head, almost nothing.

Only love interests me, and I am only in contact with things that revolve around love.

All our interior world is reality, and that, perhaps, more so than our apparent world.

You could wonder for hours what flowers mean, but for me, they're life itself, in all its happy brilliance. We couldn't do with out flowers. Flowers help you forget life's tragedies.

My name is Marc, my emotional life is sensitive and my purse is empty, but they say I have talent.

Great art picks up where nature ends.

I am a little Jew of Vitebsk. All that I paint, all that I do, all that I am, is just the little Jew of Vitebsk.

All colors are the friends of their neighbors and the lovers of their opposites.

In our life there is a single color, as on an artist's palette, which provides the meaning of life and art. It is the color of love.

In the end you’ll see you won’t stop me.

If you are thinking of making everyone happy, you are going to be a great prostitute.

One must choose between Obscurity with Efficiency and Fame with its inevitable collateral of Bluff.

It is possible to be different and still be all right.

I was in a relationship with a girl I loved for three years. Where do you go after three years? Then you've got to start thinking about other things, and I'm too young to think about those things.

In order to be irreplaceable, one must always be different- life isn't about finding yourself, it's about creating yourself- a girl should be two things: who and what she wants.

When you lose the title, that doesn't mean you lose the contract to what you had. Just like when you win the title, it doesn't mean you win brains, PhDs and MAs.

Written in these walls are the stories that I can't explain

A man in his life may have many teachers, some most unexpected. The question lies with the man himself: Will he learn from them?

Ash on an old man's sleeve / Is all the ash the burnt roses leave, / Dust in the air suspended / Marks the place where a story ended.