The World Resembles A Stage On Which

When I Wished To Sing Of Love, It Turned To Sorrow. And When I Wished To Sing Of Sorrow, It Was Transformed For Me Into Love.

Above All Things, I Must Not Get Angry. If I Do Get Angry I Knock All The Teeth Out Of The Mouth Of The Poor Wretch Who Has Angered Me.

Who Can Do Anything After Beethoven?

I Never Force Myself To Be Devout Except When I Feel So Inspired, And Never Compose Hymns Of Prayers Unless I Feel Within Me Real And True Devotion.

No One Understands Another's Grief, No One Understands Another's Joy... My Music Is The Product Of My Talent And My Misery. And That Which I Have Written In My Greatest Distress Is What The World Seems To Like Best.