No longer shall I paint interiors with men reading...

For as long as I can remember I have suffered from a deep feeling of anxiety which I have tried to express in my art.

From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity.

Disease, insanity, and death were the angels that attended my cradle, and since then have followed me throughout my life.

As I grow older, I pay less attention to what men say. I just watch what they do.

Men of age object too much, consult too long, adventure too little, repent too soon, and seldom drive business home to the full period, but content themselves with a mediocrity of success.

Men are like wine - some turn to vinegar, but the best improve with age.

I suppose when they reach a certain age some men are afraid to grow up. It seems the older the men get, the younger their new wives get.

The age of a woman doesn't mean a thing. The best tunes are played on the oldest fiddles.

I think women should start to embrace their age. What's the alternative to getting older? You die. I can't change the day I was born. But I can take care of my skin, my body, my mind, and try to live my life and be happy.

Few women, I fear, have had such reason as I have to think the long sad years of youth were worth living for the sake of middle age.

Wives are young men's mistresses, companions for middle age, and old men's nurses.