Sometimes I can only groan, and suffer, and pour out my despair at the piano.

I tell my piano the things I used to tell you

Sometimes I can only groan, and suffer, and pour out my despair at the piano.

I really don't know whether any place contains more pianists than Paris, or whether you can find more asses and virtuosos anywhere.

I wish I could throw off the thoughts which poison my happiness, but I take a kind of pleasure in indulging them.

I am not fitted to give concerts. The audience intimidates me, I feel choked by its breath, paralyzed by its curious glances, struck dumb by all those strange faces.

After a rest in Edinburgh, where, passing a music-shop, I heard some blind man playing a mazurka of mine.