If I Have Known Much Trouble In

My Imagination Can Picture No Fairer Happiness Than To Continue Living For Art.

There Is Nothing Greater Than The Joy Of Composing Something Oneself And Then Listening To It.

Why Hurry Over Beautiful Things? Why Not Linger And Enjoy Them?

The Tea Is Ice-cold, The Room Grows Colder And Colder, But I Grow Warmer And Warmer.

I Once Believed That I Possessed Creative Talent, But I Have Given Up This Idea; A Woman Must Not Desire To Compose — There Has Never Yet Been One Able To Do It. Should I Expect To Be The One?