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.

Silence, which will save from shame, will also deprive me of fame.

I wonder if memory is true, and I know that it cannot be, but that one lives by memory nevertheless and not by truth.

A composer is not only an architect but also an inventor, and he should not build houses in which he cannot live.

What gives the artist real prestige is his imitators.

Harpists spend 90 percent of their lives tuning their harps and 10 percent playing out of tune.

What force is more potent than love?