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.

The muse doesn't come without being called.

To regret the past, to hope in the future, and never to be satisfied with the present: that is what I spend my whole life doing

When Brahms is in extra good spirits, he sings, "The grave is my joy".

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

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!

Music is an incomparably more powerful means and is a subtler language for expressing the thousand different moments of the soul's moods.