I cannot write in verse, for I am no poet. I cannot arrange the parts of speech with such art as to produce effects of light and shade, for I am no painter. Even by signs and gestures I cannot express my thoughts and feelings, for I am no dancer. But I can do so by means of sounds, for I am a musician.

Directly after God in heaven comes a Papa.

When I am at peace with myself . . . then thoughts flow into me most easily and at their best. Where they come from and how - that I cannot say . . . I'd be willing to work forever and forever if I were permitted to write only such music as I want to write and can write - which I myself think good.

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

I must give you a piece of intelligence that you perhaps already know, namely that the ungodly arch-villain Voltaire has died miserably like a dog, just like a brute. That is his reward!

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.

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