Forgive Me, Majesty. I Am A Vulgar

Let Us Put Our Trust In God And Console Ourselves With The Thought That All Is Well, If It Is In Accordance With The Will Of The Almighty, As He Knows Best What Is Profitable And Beneficial To Our Temporal Happiness And Our Eternal Salvation.

You Know That I Become Quite Powerless Whenever I Am Obliged To Write For An Instrument Which I Cannot Bear.

Melody Is The Essence Of Music. I Compare A Good Melodist To A Fine Racer, And Counterpointists To Hack Post-horses; Therefore Be Advised, Let Well Alone And Remember The Old Italian Proverb: Chi Sa Più, Meno Sa— Who Knows Most, Knows Least.

As Death, When We Come To Consider It Closely, Is The True Goal Of Our Existence . . .

The Whole, Though It Be Long, Stands Almost Complete And Finished In My Mind So That I Can Survey It At A Glance. Nor Do I Hear In My Imagination The Parts Successively, But I Hear Them, As It Were, All At Once. What Delight This Is I Cannot Tell!