Even If People Censure Me, They Should

The Further The Music Develops, The More Complex The Apparatus Used By The Composer To Express His Thoughts Becomes.

Behind Me The Branches Of A Wasted And Sterile Existence Are Cracking.

If I Weren't The Way I Am, I Shouldn't Write My Symphonies.

Life's Been Nothing But Paperwork.

Spring Won't Let Me Stay In This House Any Longer! I Must Get Out And Breathe The Air Deeply Again.