People compose for many reasons, to become immortal; because the piano happens to be open; because they want to become a millionaire; because of the praise of friends; because they have looked into a pair of beautiful eyes; or for no reason whatsoever.

The flame that is naturally clear always gives the most light and heat. If I could blend my talent for poetry and music into one, the light would burn still clearer, and I might go far.

Thus it is ever in life. The aims we once pursued no longer satisfy us; we aim, we strive, we aspire, until sight fails, and mind and body find rest in the grave.

We may be sure that a genius like Mozart, were he born today, would write concertos like Chopin and not like Mozart.

When young, one learns his craftsmanship, may become a young master, and it is youth that is most auspicious for developing certain skills.

To compose is to remember music that has never been written.

Music owes as much to Bach as religion to its founder.