Mozart, The Last Chord Of A Centuries-old

Here One Must Think Profoundly To The Very Basis And Resist All Sentimental Weakness: Life Itself Is Essentially Appropriation, Injury, Conquest Of The Strange And Weak, Suppression, Severity, Obtrusion Of Peculiar Forms, Incorporation, And At The Least, Putting It Mildest, Exploitation - But Why Should One For Ever Use Precisely These Words On Which For Ages A Disparaging Purpose Has Been Stamped?

What If God Were Not Exactly Truth, And If This Could Be Proved? And If He Were Instead The Vanity, The Desire For Power, The Ambitions, The Fear, And The Enraptured And Terrified Folly Of Mankind?

One Loves Ultimately One's Desires, Not The Thing Desired.

Every Deep Thinker Is More Afraid Of Being Understood Than Of Being Misunderstood.

My Time Has Not Yet Come Either; Some Are Born Posthumously.