Play Mozart In Memory Of Me -

Oh, How Miserable It Is To Have No One To Share Your Sorrows And Joys, And, When Your Heart Is Heavy, To Have No Soul To Whom You Can Pour Out Your Woes.

Every Difficulty Slurred Over Will Be A Ghost To Disturb Your Repose Later On.

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

When One Does A Thing, It Appears Good, Otherwise One Would Not Write It. Only Later Comes Reflection, And One Discards Or Accepts The Thing. Time Is The Best Censor, And Patience A Most Excellent Teacher.

All The Same It Is Being Said Everywhere That I Played Too Softly, Or Rather, Too Delicately For People Used To The Piano-pounding Of The Artists Here.