My Piano Has Not Yet Arrived. How

It Is Dreadful When Something Weighs On Your Mind, Not To Have A Soul To Unburden Yourself To. You Know What I Mean. I Tell My Piano The Things I Used To Tell You.

Put All Your Soul Into It, Play The Way You Feel!

Nothing Is More Beautiful Than A Guitar, Except, Possibly Two.

Having Nothing To Do, I Am Correcting The Paris Edition Of Bach; Not Only The Engraver's Mistakes, But Also The Mistakes Hallowed By Those Who Are Supposed To Understand Bach (i Have No Pretensions To Understand Better, But I Do Think That Sometimes I Can Guess).

You Already Know When I'm Writing, So Don't Be Surprised If It's Short And Dry, Because I'm Too Hungry To Write Anything Fat