Artists Are Fiery; They Do Not Weep.

I Carry My Thoughts About With Me For A Long Time... Before Writing Them Down... Once I Have Grasped A Theme. I Shall Not Forget It Even Years Later. I Change Many Things, Discard Others, And Try Again And Again Until I Am Satisfied; Then, In My Head... [the Work] Rises, It Grows, I Hear And See The Image N Front Of Me From Every Angle... And Only The Labor Of Writing It Down Remains... I Turn My Ideas Into Tones That Resound, Roar, And Rage Until At Last They Stand Before Me In The Form Of Notes.

Love, And Love Alone, Is Capable Of Giving Thee A Happier Life.

I Carry My Thoughts About Me For A Long Time, Often A Very Long Time, Before I Write Them Down; Meanwhile My Memory Is So Faithful That I Am Sure Never To Forget, Not Even In Years, A Theme That Has Once Occurred To Me.

Ever Thine, Ever Mine, Ever Ours

Rossini Would Have Been A Great Composer If His Teacher Had Spanked Him Enough On His Backside.