Time Is The Best Of Critics; And

Having Nothing To Do, I Am Correcting The Paris Edition Of Bach; Not Only The Engraver's Mistakes, But Also The Mistakes Hallowed By Those Who Are Supposed To Understand Bach (i Have No Pretensions To Understand Better, But I Do Think That Sometimes I Can Guess).

If The Newspapers Cut Me Up So Much That I Shall Not Venture Before The World Again, I Have Resolved To Become A House Painter; That Would Be As Easy As Anything Else, And I Should, At Any Rate, Still Be An Artist!

Oh, How Miserable It Is To Have No One To Share Your Sorrows And Joys, And, When Your Heart Is Heavy, To Have No Soul To Whom You Can Pour Out Your Woes.

The Earth Is Suffocating... Swear To Make Them Cut Me Open, So That I Won't Be Buried Alive.

Bach Is Like An Astronomer Who, With The Help Of Ciphers, Finds The Most Wonderful Stars.