The earth is suffocating... Swear to make them cut me open, so that I won't be buried alive.
Liszt commenting on the music of Frédéric Chopin: He confided . . . those inexpressible sorrows to which the pious give vent in their communication with their Maker. What they never say except upon their knees, he said in his palpitating compositions.
My manuscripts sleep, while I cannot, for I am covered with poultices.
Play Mozart in memory of me - and I will hear you.
I tell my piano the things I used to tell you
As long as I have health and strength, I will gladly work all my days.