Nothing is more intolerable than to have to admit to yourself your own errors.

Rossini would have been a great composer if his teacher had spanked him enough on his backside.

Oh you men who think or say that I am malevolent, stubborn, or misanthropic, how greatly do you wrong me. You do not know the secret cause which makes me seem that way to you. Oh how harshly was I flung back by the doubly sad experience of my bad hearing.

Recommend to your children to be virtuous, only the virtue can bring us happiness, not the money.

After Rossini dies, who will be there to promote his music?

Yet it was impossible for me to say to people, 'Speak louder, shout, for I am deaf.' Ah, how could I possibly admit an infirmity in the one sense which ought to be more perfect in me than others, a sense which I once possessed in the highest perfection, a perfection such as few in my profession enjoy or ever have enjoyed.

Handel, to him I bow the knee.