Think it a vile habit to alter works of good composers, to omit parts of them, or to insert new-fashioned ornaments. This is the greatest insult you can offer to Art.

Does it not seem as if Mozart's works become fresher and fresher the oftener we hear them?

You write to become immortal, or because the piano happens to be open, or you've looked into a pair of beautiful eyes.

Let your intimate friends be chosen from such as are better informed than yourself.

I feel so entirely in my element with a full orchestra; even if my mortal enemies were marshalled before me, I could lead them, master them, surround them, or repulse them.

"We liked it" or "I didn't like it" people say. As if it were nothing higher than to please the people!

It was an unforgettable picture to see Chopin sitting at the piano like a clairvoyant, lost in his dreams; to see how his vision communicated itself through his playing, and how, at the end of each piece, he had the sad habit of running one finger over the length of the plaintive keyboard, as though to tear himself forcibly away from his dream.