Only When The Form Grows Clear To

My Heart Pounds Sickeningly And I Turn Pale... I Often Feel As If I Were Dead... I Seem To Be Losing My Mind.

I Sometimes Lack Confidence In Public, Although I Am Proud Enough Inwardly.

It Was An Unforgettable Picture To See Chopin Sitting At The Piano Like A Clairvoyant, Lost In His Dreams; To See How His Vision Communicated Itself Through His Playing, And How, At The End Of Each Piece, He Had The Sad Habit Of Running One Finger Over The Length Of The Plaintive Keyboard, As Though To Tear Himself Forcibly Away From His Dream.

That First Concept Is Alway The Most Naturally And Best. The Mind Errs, The Emotion Never.

Does It Not Seem As If Mozart's Works Become Fresher And Fresher The Oftener We Hear Them?