Between the desire And the spasm, Between the potency And the existence, Between the essence And the descent, Falls the Shadow.

I say to you: Make perfect your will. / I say: take no thought of the harvest, / But only of proper sowing.

The Rum Turn Tugger is a terrible bore: When you let him in, then he wants to be out; He's always on the wrong side of every door, And as soon as he's at home, then he'd like to get about.

That is not it at all, That is not what I meant, at all.

Most of the evil in this world is done by people with good intentions.

There is no feeling, except the extremes of fear and grief, that does not find relief in music.

Probably, indeed, the larger part of the labor of an author composing his work is critical labor; the labor of sifting, combining, constructing, expunging, correcting, testing. This frightful toil is as much critical as creative.