The revolutionary Mozart is the Mozart of his last eight years.

The riddle of Mozart is precisely that "the man" refuses to be a key for solving it. In death, as in life, he conceals himself behind his work.

When I was five years old, my parents gave me a magic chest. I learned to cast spells, although of a childish kind, before I had learned to read and write.

Everything that happens is at least one dimension smaller than you've imagined it to be.

In the view of the fact that nature is dying, political developments are of secondary importance.

I had given up magic, because it had reached a state of perfection. I felt that I was able to transform men into animals. I did not make use of this capability, because I believed I could not justify an intervention of this kind in the life of another person.

How can such a disproportionately large number of people have a definite, and unusually positive relationship to Mozart?