My mind and fingers have worked like the damned. Homer, the Bible, Plato, Locke, Lamartine, Chateaubriand, Beethoven, Bach, Hummel, Mozart, Weber are all around me. I study them. I devour them with fury.

In the oldest chronicles of the times conserved in Hungary, reports will be found of Gypsy music, but never of any other, either Magyar, Slavic or Jewish.

Inspiration is enough to give expression to the tone in singing, especially when the song is without words.

A theatre receives recognition through its initiative, which is indispensable for first-rate performances.

I foster a sorrowful conception of affection. Make no sacrifices.

It is impossible to imagine a more complete fusion with nature than that of the Gypsy.

Supreme serenity still remains the Ideal of great Art. The shapes and transitory forms of life are but stages toward this Ideal, which Christ's religion illuminates with His divine light.