Behind Me The Branches Of A Wasted

The Real Art Of Conducting Consists In Transitions.

Spring Won't Let Me Stay In This House Any Longer! I Must Get Out And Breathe The Air Deeply Again.

I Don't Choose What I Compose. It Chooses Me.

Fortunately, Something Always Remains To Be Harvested. So Let Us Not Be Idle.

A Symphony Must Be Like The World. It Must Contain Everything.