Nothing Is More Beautiful Than A Guitar,

It's A Huge Carthusian Monastery, Stuck Down Between Rocks And Sea, Where You May Imagine Me, Without White Gloves Or Hair Curling, As Pale As Ever, In A Cell With Such Doors As Paris Never Had For Gates. The Cell Is The Shape Of A Tall Coffin, With An Enormous Dusty Vaulting, A Small Window... Bach, My Scrawls And Waste Paper - Silence - You Could Scream - There Would Still Be Silence. Indeed, I Write To You From A Strange Place.

If The Newspapers Cut Me Up So Much That I Shall Not Venture Before The World Again, I Have Resolved To Become A House Painter; That Would Be As Easy As Anything Else, And I Should, At Any Rate, Still Be An Artist!

Liszt Commenting On The Music Of Frédéric Chopin: He Confided . . . Those Inexpressible Sorrows To Which The Pious Give Vent In Their Communication With Their Maker. What They Never Say Except Upon Their Knees, He Said In His Palpitating Compositions.

England Is A Country Of Pianos, They Are Everywhere.

I Feel Like A Novice, Just As I Felt Before I Knew Anything Of The Keyboard. It Is Far Too Original, And I Shall End Up Not Being Able To Learn It Myself.