Modesty Is The Conscience Of The Body.

Music Is Of Two Kinds: One Petty, Poor, Second-rate, Never Varying, Its Base The Hundred Or So Phrasings Which All Musicians Understand, A Babbling Which Is More Or Less Pleasant, The Life That Most Composers Live.

Who Shall Ever Tell How Much An Unmerited Disfavor Crushes A Shy Person? Who Can Ever Depict The Misfortunes Of Timidity?

The Day Will Dawn When Europe Will Believe Only In The Man Who Tramples Her Underfoot.

How Sternly We Reproach Virtue For Its Failings, How Indulgent We Are To The Better Qualities Of Vice!

Incurable Wounds Are Those Inflicted By Tongue And Eye, By Mockery And Disdain.