Approval or blame will follow in the world to come.
I want you for always...days, years, eternities.
No one feels another's grief.
O Mozart, immortal Mozart, how many, how infinitely many inspiring suggestions of a finer, better life you have left in our souls!
I am in the world only for the purpose of composing.
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?