Melodies die out, like the pipe of Pan, with the ears that love them and listen for them.

We are all of us born in moral stupidity, taking the world as an udder to feed our supreme selves

Art is the nearest thing to life; it is a mode of amplifying experience and extending our contact with our fellow men beyond the bounds of our personal lot.

There is hardly any mental misery worse than that of having our own serious phrases, our own rooted beliefs, caricatured by a charlatan or a hireling.

I think I should have no other mortal wants, if I could always have plenty of music.

... the majority of us scarcely see more distinctly the faultiness of our own conduct than the faultiness of our own arguments, orthe dulness [sic] of our own jokes.

Pride helps us; and pride is not a bad thing when it only urges us to hide our own hurts—not to hurt others.