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

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.

When All Hopes Of Recognition Or Honor Have Faded Into Distant Memory, When Purity Of Heart Meets Sorrow Of Mind, When All The World Seems To Walk In Blindness And Yet A Man Works Without Wearying For That Which He Loves...only In This Moment Is Passion Truly Understood

Who Can Do Anything After Beethoven?

No One Really Understands The Grief Or Joy Of Another. We Always Imagine That We Are Approaching Some Other, But Our Lines Of Travel Are Actually Parallel.

I Am In The World Only For The Purpose Of Composing.