Quarrels in France strengthen a love affair, in America they end it.
Love is a mystery which, when solved, evaporates. The same holds for music.
All men are forced into one of two categories: those with eleven fingers and those without.
Bel canto is to opera what pole-vaulting is to ballet.
Minor artists borrow, great ones steal.
Intelligence is silence, truth is being invisible. But what a racket I make in declaring this.