Bach is like an astronomer who, with the help of ciphers, finds the most wonderful stars.

England is so surrounded by the boredom of conventionalities, that it is all one to them whether music is good or bad, since they have to hear it from morning till night. For here they have flower-shows with music, dinners with music, sales with music.

England is a country of pianos, they are everywhere.

As something has involuntarily crept into my head through my eyes,I love to indulge it, even though it may be all wrong.

Having nothing to do, I am correcting the Paris edition of Bach; not only the engraver's mistakes, but also the mistakes hallowed by those who are supposed to understand Bach (I have no pretensions to understand better, but I do think that sometimes I can guess).

Oh, how hard it must be to die anywhere but in ones birthplace.

The Official Bulletin declared that the Poles should be as proud of me as the Germans are of Mozart; obvious nonsense.