I Really Do Not Aim At Any

Neither A Lofty Degree Of Intelligence Nor Imagination Nor Both Together Go To The Making Of Genius. Love, Love, Love, That Is The Soul Of Genius.

It Is A Great Consolation For Me To Remember That The Lord, To Whom I Had Drawn Near In Humble And Child-like Faith, Has Suffered And Died For Me, And That He Will Look On Me In Love And Compassion.

A Man Of Ordinary Talent Will Always Be Ordinary, Whether He Travels Or Not; But A Man Of Superior Talent (which I Cannot Deny Myself To Be Without Being Impious) Will Go To Pieces If He Remains Forever In The Same Place.

I Write [music] As A Sow Piddles.

I Am A Fool. That Is Well Known.