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Hating people is like burning down your own house to get rid of a rat.

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Time rushes towards us with its hospital tray of infinitely varied narcotics, even while it is preparing us for its inevitably fatal operation.

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For death is no more than a turning of us over from time to eternity.

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All works of art are commissioned in the sense that no artist can create one by a simple act of will but must wait until what he believes to be a good idea for a work comes to him.

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Music has charms to sooth a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.

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Music is moonlight in the gloomy night of life.

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