How lucky is the man who, like Mozart and others, goes to the tavern of an evening and writes some fresh music. For he lives while he is creating.

We cling nervously to the melody, but we don't handle it freely, we don't really make anything new out of it, we merely overload it.

For the shallow delights of matrimony and opera I have no courage.

It is a real pleasure to see music so bright and spontaneous expressed with corresponding ease and grace.

In him converge all previous streams of tendency, not as into a pool, stagnant, passive, motionless, but as a noble river that received its tributary waters and bearss them onward in larger and statelier volume.

How lucky is the man who, like Mozart and others, goes to the tavern of an evening and writes some fresh music. For he lives while he is creating.

Straightaway the ideas flow in upon me, directly from God.