Letters of a Post Impressionist.
Where as the finest plans and calculations, So often come to a Naught.
If only one work on the half chance and take advantage of the happy accidents the day brings with it.
One can accomplish a host of good and astonishing things.
The illusion of money,
the hope of being able to live without money, troubles and of
One day, escaping from these eternal straits.
What a foolish illusion is this.
I should consider myself lucky to be able to work even for an annuity
which would only just cover bare necessaries and to be
At peace in my own studio for the rest of my life.