No One Really Understands The Grief Or

If Only Your Pure And Clean Mind Could Touch Me, Dear Haydn, Nobody Has A Greater Reverence For You Than I Have.

There Are Eight Girls In The House In Which I Am Living, And Practically All Of Them Are Good Looking. You Can Realize That I Am Kept Busy.

A Man Endures Misfortune Without Complaint.

One Bites Into The Brass Mouthpiece Of His Wooden Cudgel, And The Other Blows His Cheeks Out On A French Horn. Do You Call That Art?

I Am Composing Like A God, As If It Simply Had To Be Done As It Has Been Done.