The Real Artist Has No Idea That

We Are Rich In The Quantity Of Songs Rather Than In The Quality. The Singer Has To Go Through Hundreds Of Compositions Before He Finds One That Really Says Something.

The Sincerity Of The Art Worker Must Permeate The Song As Naturally As The Green Leaves Break Through The Dead Branches In Springtime.

One Does Not Study For A Goal. The Goal Is A Mere Accident.

Just As The Bird Sings Or The Butterfly Soars, Because It Is His Natural Characteristic, So The Artist Works.

The Student Who Deceives Himself Into Thinking That He Is Giving His Life Like An Ascetic In The Spirit Of Sacrifice For Art, Is The Victim Of A Deplorable Species Of Egotism.