The Artist Is The Child In The

He Only Profits From Praise Who Values Criticism.

The Gazelles So Gentle And Clever Skip Lightly In Frolicsome Mood.

Music Is A Strange Thing. I Would Almost Say It Is A Miracle. For It Stands Halfway Between Thought And Phenomenon, Between Spirit And Matter.

I Do Not Murmur, Even If My Heart Break.

The Real Madness Probably Is Not Another Thing That The Wisdom Itself That, Tired Of Discovering The Shames Of The World, Has Taken The Intelligent Resolution To Become Mad