I Am Composing Like A God, As

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 World Resembles A Stage On Which Every Man Is Playing A Part.

Easy Mind, Light Heart. A Mind That Is Too Easy Hides A Heart That Is Too Heavy.

O Mozart, Immortal Mozart, How Many, How Infinitely Many Inspiring Suggestions Of A Finer, Better Life You Have Left In Our Souls!

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.