Nobody Understands Another's Sorrow, And Nobody Another's

The Guitar Is A Wonderful Instrument Which Is Understood By Few.

It Sometimes Seems To Me As If I Do Not Belong To This World At All. I Deplore Music That Engenders In People Not Love But Madness: Which Rouses Them To Scornful Laughter Instead Of Lifting Their Thoughts To God.

There Are Eight Girls In The House In Which I Am Living, And Practically All Of Them Are Good Looking. You Can Realize That I Am Kept Busy.

No One Feels Another's Grief.

You Believe Happiness To Be Derived From The Place In Which Once You Have Been Happy, But In Truth It Is Centered In Ourselves.