To write a symphony is, for me, to construct a world.
But it's peculiar, as soon as I am in the midst of nature and by myself, everything that is base and trivial vanishes without trace. On such days nothing scares me; and this helps me again and again.
I live like a Hottentot. I cannot exchange one sensible word with anyone.
What is best in music is not to be found in the notes.
Behind me the branches of a wasted and sterile existence are cracking.
Melodic invention is one of the surest signs of a divine gift.