With The Coming Of Spring, I Am

Behind Me The Branches Of A Wasted And Sterile Existence Are Cracking.

Beauty And Fullness Of Tone Can Be Achieved By Having The Whole Orchestra Play With High Clarinets And A Carefully Selected Number Of Piccolos.

A Symphony Must Be Like The World. It Must Contain Everything.

It Is Always The Same With Me; Only When I Experience Something Do I Compose, And Only When Composing Do I Experience! After All, A Musician's Nature Can Hardly Be Expressed In Words.

I Am Hitting My Head Against The Walls, But The Walls Are Giving Way.