When I Feel Well And In A

I Must Give You A Piece Of Intelligence That You Perhaps Already Know, Namely That The Ungodly Arch-villain Voltaire Has Died Miserably Like A Dog, Just Like A Brute. That Is His Reward!

Our Riches, Being In Our Brains, Die With Us... Unless Of Course Someone Chops Off Our Head, In Which Case, We Won't Need Them Anyway.

Neither Rejoice Nor Lament Prematurely; For Whatever May Happen, All Will Be Well If We Only Have Health; For Happiness Exists--merely In The Imagination.

Even When I Can Play Europe's Most Precious Keyboard, To Have To Listen To People Who Don't Understand, Or Do Not Want To Understand, And Who Are Incapable Of Grasping My Intent, Whatever I Play, Does Surely Forfeit My Lust For Playing At All.

It Is A Great Consolation For Me To Remember That The Lord, To Whom I Had Drawn Near In Humble And Child-like Faith, Has Suffered And Died For Me, And That He Will Look On Me In Love And Compassion.