Life Is Only A Long And Bitter

As For Famous Men Who Were Not Artists, I Am Beginning To Be Tired Of Them. Those Poor Little Scoundrels Who Are Called Great Men Fill Me With Nothing But Overwhelming Horror.

My Piano Is To Me What A Ship Is To The Sailor, What A Steed Is To The Arab. It Is The Intimate Personal Depository Of Everything That Stirred Wildly In My Brain During The Most Impassioned Days Of My Youth. It Was There That All My Wishes, All My Dreams, All My Joys, And All My Sorrows Lay.

I Conclude That The Wagnerian Operas Which Are Already In The Repertoire, And Other Masterworks As Well, Stand In No Further Need Of My Services.

We Need Improvement In The Style Of Performance. There Is No More Advantage In A Musician Who Plays And Conducts Than In One Who Is Only A Beater Of Rhythm.

Companions, In Misery And Worse, That Is What We All Are, And To Try To Change This Substantially Avails Us Nothing.