Bach Is Like An Astronomer Who, With

Oh, How Hard It Must Be To Die Anywhere But In Ones Birthplace.

Simplicity Is The Highest Goal, Achievable When You Have Overcome All Difficulties.

After A Rest In Edinburgh, Where, Passing A Music-shop, I Heard Some Blind Man Playing A Mazurka Of Mine.

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).

I Really Don't Know Whether Any Place Contains More Pianists Than Paris, Or Whether You Can Find More Asses And Virtuosos Anywhere.