England is a country of pianos, they are everywhere.

Nothing is more beautiful than a guitar, except, possibly two.

I am gay on the outside, especially among my own folk (I count Poles my own); but inside something gnaws at me; some presentiment, anxiety, dreams - or sleeplessness - melancholy, indifference - desire for life, and the next instant, desire for death; some kind of sweet peace, some kind of numbness, absent-mindedness.

We fell silent and all joking ceased. We gazed mutely into each other's eyes and an intense longing for the fullest avowal of the truth forced us to a confession, requiring no words whatever, or the incommensurable misfortune that weighed upon us. With tears and sobs we sealed a vow to belong to each other alone.

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

England is a country of pianos, they are everywhere.

Vienna is a handsome, lively city, and pleases me exceedingly.