My imagination can picture no fairer happiness than to continue living for art.

Why hurry over beautiful things? Why not linger and enjoy them?

I do not want horses or diamonds - I am happy in possessing you.

There is nothing greater than the joy of composing something oneself and then listening to it.

I cannot give a single concert at which I do not play one piece after the other in an agony of terror because my memory threatens to fail me. This fear torments me for days beforehand.

My health may be better preserved if I exert myself less, but in the end doesn't each person give his life for his calling?