Marc Zakharovich Chagall (July 6, 1887 – March 28, 1985) was a Russian-French artist. An early modernist, he was associated with several major artistic styles and created works in virtually every artistic medium, including painting, book illustrations, stained glass, stage sets, ceramic, tapestries and fine art prints. (Click here for full Wikipedia article)
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.
Only love interests me, and I am only in contact with things that revolve around love.
All colors are the friends of their neighbors and the lovers of their opposites.
The dignity of the artist lies in his duty of keeping awake the sense of wonder in the world. In this long vigil he often has to vary his methods of stimulation; but in this long vigil he is also himself striving against a continual tendency to sleep.
Great art picks up where nature ends.
The fingers must be educated, the thumb is born knowing.
If all life moves inevitably towards its end, then we must, during our own, color it with our colors of love and hope.
All our interior world is reality, and that, perhaps, more so than our apparent world.
Color is all. When color is right, form is right. Color is everything, color is vibration like music; everything is vibration.
Time is a river without banks.
Work isn't to make money; you work to justify life.
Love and fantasy, go hand in hand.
Mozart never composed anything, ever! He copied what was written on his soul.
Mine alone is the country of my soul.
Art seems to me to be above all a state of soul.
Art is foremost a state of mind, and only secondarily a problem of form.
To call everything that appears illogical, fantasy, fairy tale, or chimera would be practically to admit not understanding nature.
In my youth, poverty enriched me, but now I can afford wealth.
One cannot be precise, and still be true.
(March 28 is also the birthday of Daniel Dennett.)