Stupid criticism and still more stupid praise.

I adore art...when I am alone with my notes, my heart pounds and the tears stream from my eyes, and my emotion and my joys are too much to bear.

I have striven for perfection, it has always eluded me, but I surely had an obligation to make one more try.

Oh, you happy sons of the North who have been reared at the bosom of Bach, how I envy you!

The artist must yield himself to his own inspiration... I should compose with utter confidence a subject that set my musical blood going, even though it were condemned by all other artists as anti-musical.

The artist must yield himself to his own inspiraton, and if he has a true talent, no one knows and feels better than he what suits him.

I order that my funeral ceremonies be extremely modest, and that they take place at dawn or at the evening Ave Maria, without song or music.