"As for me, I am rather often uneasy in my mind, because I think that my life has not been calm enough; all those bitter disappointments, adversities, changes keep me from developing fully and naturally in my artistic career."

Vincent van Gogh
Letter W11
16 June 1889

"For myself I have nothing to complain of, I am feeling absolutely normal, so to speak, but without an idea for the future, and really I do not know what is going to happen . . . . ."

Vincent van Gogh
Letter 618
7 December 1889

I no longer see any possibility of having courage or hope.

And I can already see myself one day in the future enjoying some small success, and missing the solitude and the anguish as I watched the reaper in the field below through the iron bars of my cell. It's an ill wind . . . .

I always feel I am a traveller, going somewhere and to some destination. If I tell myself that the somewhere and the destination do not exist, that seems to me very reasonable and likely enough.

To be carefree, to hope that someday or another one will be free from want, what a dream!

I am afraid of "the morning after the night before"

If I had the faith to do it, I'd be a notable madman; now I am an insignificant one, but you see I am not sufficiently ambitious for that fame to set a match to the powder.

Sometimes I feel too feeble to fight against existing circumstances, and I should have to be cleverer and richer and younger to win.

To express hope by some star, the eagerness of a soul by a sunset radiance.

I often think the night is more alive and more richly coloured than the day.

Yet even then I do not think that my madness could take the form of persecution mania, since when in a state of excitement my feelings lead me rather to the contemplation of eternity, and eternal life.

Journeying through these parts for hour after hour, one feels that there really is nothing but that infinite earth, that mould of corn or heather, that infinite sky.

Vincent van Gogh
Letter 340
16 November 1883

Indeed, this may be a small misery, but it is a sorrow after all: A feeling of being an outcast particularly strange and unpleasant though the country may be ever so stimulating and beautiful.

"When I was standing in the pulpit, I felt like somebody who, emerging from a dark cave underground, comes back to the friendly daylight."

Vincent van Gogh
Letter 79
31 October 1876