What A Picture Of A Better World

The World Resembles A Stage On Which Every Man Is Playing A Part.

Why Should The Composer Be More Guilty Than The Poet Who Warms To Fantasy By A Strange Flame, Making An Idea That Inspires Him The Subject Of His Own Very Different Treatment?

When All Hopes Of Recognition Or Honor Have Faded Into Distant Memory, When Purity Of Heart Meets Sorrow Of Mind, When All The World Seems To Walk In Blindness And Yet A Man Works Without Wearying For That Which He Loves...only In This Moment Is Passion Truly Understood

No One Feels Another's Grief, No One Understands Another's Joy. People Imagine They Can Reach One Another. In Reality They Only Pass Each Other By.

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.