Directly after God in heaven comes a Papa.

I love it when an aria fits a singer as perfectly as a suit of well-tailored clothes.

Forgive me, Majesty. I am a vulgar man! But I assure you, my music is not.

I choose such notes that love one another.

To every good friend I send my greet feet; addio nitwit. Love true true true until the grave, if I live that long and do behave.

People err who think my art comes easily to me. I assure you, dear friend, nobody has devoted so much time and thought to compositions as I. There is not a famous master whose music I have not industriously studied through many times.

Neither a lofty degree of intelligence nor imagination nor both together go to the making of genius. Love, love, love, that is the soul of genius.