Who can do anything after Beethoven?

A man endures misfortune without complaint.

There are eight girls in the house in which I am living, and practically all of them are good looking. You can realize that I am kept busy.

If only your pure and clean mind could touch me, dear Haydn, nobody has a greater reverence for you than I have.

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.

One bites into the brass mouthpiece of his wooden cudgel, and the other blows his cheeks out on a French horn. Do you call that Art?

It sometimes seems to me as if I do not belong to this world at all. I deplore music that engenders in people not love but madness: which rouses them to scornful laughter instead of lifting their thoughts to God.