Time Is The Best Of Critics; And

We Fell Silent And All Joking Ceased. We Gazed Mutely Into Each Other's Eyes And An Intense Longing For The Fullest Avowal Of The Truth Forced Us To A Confession, Requiring No Words Whatever, Or The Incommensurable Misfortune That Weighed Upon Us. With Tears And Sobs We Sealed A Vow To Belong To Each Other Alone.

The Official Bulletin Declared That The Poles Should Be As Proud Of Me As The Germans Are Of Mozart; Obvious Nonsense.

Sometimes I Can Only Groan, And Suffer, And Pour Out My Despair At The Piano.

My Manuscripts Sleep, While I Cannot, For I Am Covered With Poultices.

England Is So Surrounded By The Boredom Of Conventionalities, That It Is All One To Them Whether Music Is Good Or Bad, Since They Have To Hear It From Morning Till Night. For Here They Have Flower-shows With Music, Dinners With Music, Sales With Music.