Madam, you ask me how I compose. I compose sitting down.

I sit down to the piano regularly at nine-o'clock in the morning and Mesdames les Muses have learned to be on time for that rendezvous.

Even in the works of the greatest master, the organic sequence can fail and then a skillful join must be made.

Mozart is the musical Christ.

Only music clarifies, reconciles, and consoles. But it is not a straw just barely clutched at. It is a faithful friend, protector, and comforter, and for its sake alone, life in this world is worth living. Who knows, perhaps in heaven there will be no music. So let us live on the earth while we still have life!

Sometimes I observe with curiosity that uninterrupted activity which, independent of the subject of any conversation I may be carrying on, continues its course in that department of my brain that is devoted to music.

What I need is to believe in myself again — for my faith has been greatly undermined; it seems to me my role is over.