Hating people is like burning down your own house to get rid of a rat.
Time rushes towards us with its hospital tray of infinitely varied narcotics, even while it is preparing us for its inevitably fatal operation.
For death is no more than a turning of us over from time to eternity.
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.
Music has charms to sooth a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
Music is moonlight in the gloomy night of life.