An artist is like a pig snouting truffles.

When I discovered that I had been made custodian of this gift, in my earliest childhood, I pledged myself to God to be worthy of it, but I have received uncovenanted mercies all my life. The custodian has too often kept faith on his all-too-worldly terms.

An audience is an abstraction; it has no taste. It must depend on the only person who has (pardon, should have), the conductor.

Mediocrity borrows, genius steals.

An artist is like a pig snouting truffles.

I take no pride in my artistic talents; they are God-given and I see absolutely no reason to become puffed up over something that one has received.

In order to create there must be a dynamic force, and what force is more potent than love?