I am in the world only for the purpose of composing.

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.

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

When all hopes of recognition or honor have faded into distant memory, when purity of heart meets sorrow of mind, when all the world seems to walk in blindness and yet a man works without wearying for that which he loves...only in this moment is passion truly understood

No one feels another's grief, no one understands another's joy. People imagine they can reach one another. In reality they only pass each other by.

The world resembles a stage on which every man is playing a part.

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.