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

Nothing is more odious than music without hidden meaning.

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.

A strange adventure befell me while I was playing my Sonata in B flat minor before some English friends. I had played the Allegro and the Scherzo more or less correctly. I was about to attack the March when suddenly I saw arising from the body of my piano those cursed creatures which had appeared to me one lugubrious night at the Chartreuse. I had to leave for one instant to pull myself together after which I continued without saying anything.

Man is never always happy, and very often only a brief period of happiness is granted him in this world; so why escape from this dream which cannot last long?

They want me to give another concert but I have no desire to do so. You cannot imagine what a torture the three days before a public appearance are to me.