Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
The moment is supreme.
No one feels another's grief.
Who can do anything after Beethoven?
There is no such thing as happy music.
Why does God endow us with compassion?
A man endures misfortune without complaint.
I want you for always...days, years, eternities.
Anyone who loves music can never be quite unhappy.
I try to decorate my imagination as much as I can.
Approval or blame will follow in the world to come.
I am in the world only for the purpose of composing.
No one really understands the grief or joy of another.
What a picture of a better world you have given us, Mozart!
Nobody understands another's sorrow, and nobody another's joy.
The guitar is a wonderful instrument which is understood by few.
The world resembles a stage on which every man is playing a part.
I am composing like a god, as if it simply had to be done as it has been done.
Easy mind, light heart. A mind that is too easy hides a heart that is too heavy.
The manager is to be blamed who distributes parts to his players which they are unable to act.
Love is in the air these days, so we thought we'd give a try to make your day a little brighter.
Every night when I go to bed, I hope that I may never wake again, and every morning renews my grief.
Happy is the man who finds a true friend, and far happier is he who finds that true friend in his wife.
The greatest misfortune of the wise man and the greatest unhappiness of the fool are based upon convention.
If only your pure and clean mind could touch me, dear Haydn, nobody has a greater reverence for you than I have.
Our castle is not imposing, but is well built, and surrounded by a very fine garden. I live in the bailiff's house.
My compositions spring from my sorrows. Those that give the world the greatest delight were born of my deepest griefs.
When I wished to sing of love, it turned to sorrow. And when I wished to sing of sorrow, it was transformed for me into love.
You believe happiness to be derived from the place in which once you have been happy, but in truth it is centered in ourselves.
O Mozart, immortal Mozart, how many, how infinitely many inspiring suggestions of a finer, better life you have left in our souls!
One bites into the brass mouthpiece of his wooden cudgel, and the other blows his cheeks out on a French horn. Do you call that Art?
Above all things, I must not get angry. If I do get angry I knock all the teeth out of the mouth of the poor wretch who has angered me.
There are two contrary impulses which govern this man's brain-the one sane, and the other eccentric. They alternate at regular intervals.
There are eight girls in the house in which I am living, and practically all of them are good looking. You can realize that I am kept busy.
No one feels another's grief, no one understands another's joy. People imagine they can reach one another. In reality they only pass each other by.
I never force myself to be devout except when I feel so inspired, and never compose hymns of prayers unless I feel within me real and true devotion.
No one really understands the grief or joy of another. We always imagine that we are approaching some other, but our lines of travel are actually parallel.
Why should the composer be more guilty than the poet who warms to fantasy by a strange flame, making an idea that inspires him the subject of his own very different treatment?
It sometimes seems to me as if I do not belong to this world at all. I deplore music that engenders in people not love but madness: which rouses them to scornful laughter instead of lifting their thoughts to God.
No one understands another's grief, no one understands another's joy... My music is the product of my talent and my misery. And that which I have written in my greatest distress is what the world seems to like best.
When all hopes of recognition or honor have faded into distant memory, when purity of heart meets sorrow of mind, when all the world seems to walk in blindness and yet a man works without wearying for that which he loves...only in this moment is passion truly understood