Art Demands Of Us That We Shall

Yet It Was Impossible For Me To Say To People, 'speak Louder, Shout, For I Am Deaf.' Ah, How Could I Possibly Admit An Infirmity In The One Sense Which Ought To Be More Perfect In Me Than Others, A Sense Which I Once Possessed In The Highest Perfection, A Perfection Such As Few In My Profession Enjoy Or Ever Have Enjoyed.

One Must Not Hold One's Self So Divine As To Be Unwilling Occasionally To Make Improvements In One's Creations.

Nothing Is More Intolerable Than To Have To Admit To Yourself Your Own Errors.

We Mortals With Immortal Minds Are Only Born For Sufferings And Joys, And One Could Almost Say That The Most Excellent Receive Joy Through Sufferings.

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?