You believe happiness to be derived from the place in which once you have been happy, but in truth it is centered in ourselves.

Love is in the air these days, so we thought we'd give a try to make your day a little brighter.

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?

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

Who can do anything after Beethoven?

The manager is to be blamed who distributes parts to his players which they are unable to act.

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.