Neither A Lofty Degree Of Intelligence Nor

Love, Love, Love, That Is The Soul Of Genius.

I Must Give You A Piece Of Intelligence That You Perhaps Already Know, Namely That The Ungodly Arch-villain Voltaire Has Died Miserably Like A Dog, Just Like A Brute. That Is His Reward!

When I Am At Peace With Myself . . . Then Thoughts Flow Into Me Most Easily And At Their Best. Where They Come From And How - That I Cannot Say . . . I'd Be Willing To Work Forever And Forever If I Were Permitted To Write Only Such Music As I Want To Write And Can Write - Which I Myself Think Good.

Melody Is The Essence Of Music. I Compare A Good Melodist To A Fine Racer, And Counterpoints To Hack Post-horses.

I Never Lie Down At Night Without Reflecting That, Young As I Am, I May Not Live To See Another Day.