The whole, though it be long, stands almost complete and finished in my mind so that I can survey it at a glance. Nor do I hear in my imagination the parts successively, but I hear them, as it were, all at once. What delight this is I cannot tell!

Our riches, being in our brains, die with us... Unless of course someone chops off our head, in which case, we won't need them anyway.

As death, when we come to consider it closely, is the true goal of our existence . . .

I write [music] as a sow piddles.

Silence is very important. The silence between the notes are as important as the notes themselves.

The taste of death is upon my lips. I feel something that is not of this earth.

Music, in even the most terrible situations, must never offend the ear but always remain a source of pleasure.