Music was invented to confirm human loneliness.

Music takes us out of the actual and whispers to us dim secrets that startle our wonder as to who we are, and for what, whence, and whereto.

Music is nothing else but wild sounds civilized into time and tune.

A nation creates music-the composer only arranges it.

Schoenberg does not write against the piano, but neither can he be accused of writing for it.

Take a music-bath once or twice a week for a few seasons, and you will find that it is to the soul what the water-bath is to the body.

No one can get really drunk on a novel or a painting, but who can help getting drunk on Reethoven's Ninth, Rartok's Sonata for Two Pianos and Percussion, or the Reatles' White Album?

And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away.

Music quickens time, she quickens us to the finest enjoyment of time.

A bad performance haunts the artist like a nightmare for days and days, and the memory of it is erased only by a good performance.