Even In Winter It Shall Be Green

Simplicity Is The Final Achievement. After One Has Played A Vast Quantity Of Notes And More Notes, It Is Simplicity That Emerges As The Crowning Reward Of Art.

The Official Bulletin Declared That The Poles Should Be As Proud Of Me As The Germans Are Of Mozart; Obvious Nonsense.

A Strange Adventure Befell Me While I Was Playing My Sonata In B Flat Minor Before Some English Friends. I Had Played The Allegro And The Scherzo More Or Less Correctly. I Was About To Attack The March When Suddenly I Saw Arising From The Body Of My Piano Those Cursed Creatures Which Had Appeared To Me One Lugubrious Night At The Chartreuse. I Had To Leave For One Instant To Pull Myself Together After Which I Continued Without Saying Anything.

Sometimes I Can Only Groan, And Suffer, And Pour Out My Despair At The Piano.

My Piano Has Not Yet Arrived. How Did You Send It? By Marseilles Or By Perpignan? I Dream Music But I Cannot Make Any Because Here There Are Not Any Pianos . . . In This Respect This Is A Savage Country.