I was a God-fearing child, innocent and physically attractive.

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

Talent works, genius creates.

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

Endeavour to play easy pieces well and with elegance; that is better than to play difficult pieces badly.

It is the curse of talent that, although it labors with greater steadiness and perseverance than genius, it does not reach its goal, while genius already on the summit of the ideal, gazes laughingly about.

My heart pounds sickeningly and I turn pale... I often feel as if I were dead... I seem to be losing my mind.