When I wished to sing of love, it turned to sorrow. And when I wished to sing of sorrow, it was transformed for me into love.
If only your pure and clean mind could touch me, dear Haydn, nobody has a greater reverence for you than I have.
I want you for always...days, years, eternities.
Anyone who loves music can never be quite unhappy.
I am composing like a god, as if it simply had to be done as it has been done.
No one really understands the grief or joy of another. We always imagine that we are approaching some other, but our lines of travel are actually parallel.