A Man Endures Misfortune Without

One Bites Into The Brass Mouthpiece Of His Wooden Cudgel, And The Other Blows His Cheeks Out On A French Horn. Do You Call That Art?

The Manager Is To Be Blamed Who Distributes Parts To His Players Which They Are Unable To Act.

No One Understands Another's Grief, No One Understands Another's Joy... My Music Is The Product Of My Talent And My Misery. And That Which I Have Written In My Greatest Distress Is What The World Seems To Like Best.

It Sometimes Seems To Me As If I Do Not Belong To This World At All. I Deplore Music That Engenders In People Not Love But Madness: Which Rouses Them To Scornful Laughter Instead Of Lifting Their Thoughts To God.

No One Really Understands The Grief Or Joy Of Another.