To Speak Of Love Is To Make

The Man As He Converses Is The Lover; Silent, He Is The Husband.

Music Is Of Two Kinds: One Petty, Poor, Second-rate, Never Varying, Its Base The Hundred Or So Phrasings Which All Musicians Understand, A Babbling Which Is More Or Less Pleasant, The Life That Most Composers Live.

I Declare, On My Soul And Conscience, That The Attainment Of Power, Or Of A Great Name In Literature, Seemed To Me An Easier Victory Than A Success With Some Young, Witty, And Gracious Lady Of High Degree.

It Is As Easy To Dream A Book As It Is Hard To Write One.

Who Shall Ever Tell How Much An Unmerited Disfavor Crushes A Shy Person? Who Can Ever Depict The Misfortunes Of Timidity?