the little yellow diary

And people are often unable to do anything, imprisoned as they are in I don’t know what kind of terrible, terrible, oh such terrible cage. […] Do you know what makes the prison disappear? Every deep, genuine affection. Being friends, being brothers, loving, that is what opens the prison, with supreme power, by some magic force. Without these one stays dead. But whenever affection is revived, there life revives.

Many people seem to think it foolish, even superstitious, to believe that the world could still change for the better. And it is true that in winter it is sometimes so bitingly cold that one is tempted to say, ‘What do I care if there is a summer; its warmth is no help to me now.’

Yes, evil often seems to surpass good. But then, in spite of us, and without our permission, there comes at last an end to the bitter frosts. One morning the wind turns, and there is a thaw. And so I must still have hope.

I put my heart and my soul into my work, and have lost my mind in the process.

I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart.

Great things are not something accidental, but must certainly be willed.

I try more and more to be myself, caring relatively little whether people approve or disapprove.

A great fire burns within me, but no one stops to warm themselves at it, and passers-by only see a wisp of smoke.

It seems to me there’s so much more to the world then the average eye is allowed to see. I believe, if you look hard, there are more wonders in this universe then you could ever have dreamt of.

I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.

For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.

I dream of painting and then I paint my dream.