The old idea of a composer suddenly having a terrific idea and sitting up all night to write it is nonsense. Nighttime is for sleeping.

I liked the opera very much. Everything but the music.

It is cruel, you know, that music should be so beautiful. It has the beauty of loneliness of pain: of strength and freedom. The beauty of disappointment and never-satisfied love. The cruel beauty of nature and everlasting beauty of monotony.

The model of a composer.

Music does not excite until it is performed.

Composing is like driving down a foggy road.

These two are not two, love has made them one. Amo Ergo Sum! And by its mystery each is no less but more.