After Rossini Dies, Who Will Be There

Don't Only Practise Your Art, But Force Your Way Into Its Secrets.

She Was Such A Good Loving Mother, My Best Friend. Oh, Who Was Happier Than I When I Could Still Say The Dear Name "mother," And It Was Heard, And Whom Can I Say It To Now?

Then Let Us All Do What Is Right, Strive With All Our Might Toward The Unattainable, Develop As Fully As We Can The Gifts God Has Given Us, And Never Stop Learning

I Carry My Thoughts About Me For A Long Time, Often A Very Long Time, Before I Write Them Down; Meanwhile My Memory Is So Faithful That I Am Sure Never To Forget, Not Even In Years, A Theme That Has Once Occurred To Me.

I Carry My Thoughts About With Me For A Long Time... Before Writing Them Down... Once I Have Grasped A Theme. I Shall Not Forget It Even Years Later. I Change Many Things, Discard Others, And Try Again And Again Until I Am Satisfied; Then, In My Head... [the Work] Rises, It Grows, I Hear And See The Image N Front Of Me From Every Angle... And Only The Labor Of Writing It Down Remains... I Turn My Ideas Into Tones That Resound, Roar, And Rage Until At Last They Stand Before Me In The Form Of Notes.