Wherever You Are, I Am There Also.

To Play Without Passion Is Inexcusable!

You Ask Me Where I Get My Ideas. That I Cannot Tell You With Certainty. They Come Unsummoned, Directly, Indirectly - I Could Seize Them With My Hands - Out In The Open Air, In The Woods, While Walking, In The Silence Of The Nights, At Dawn, Excited By Moods Which Are Translated By The Poet Into Words, By Me Into Tones That Sound And Roar And Storm About Me Till I Have Set Them Down In Notes.

There Ought To Be Only One Large Art Warehouse In The World, To Which The Artist Could Carry His Art-works And From Which He Could Carry Away Whatever He Needed. As It Is One Must Be Half A Tradesman.

How Glad I Am To Be Able To Roam In The Wood And Thicket, Among Trees And Flowers And Rocks ... In The Country, Every Tree Seems To Speak To Me, Saying, "holy! Holy", In The Woods, There Is Enchantment Which Expresses All Things.

I Carry My Thoughts About With Me For A Long Time... Before Writing Them Down... Once I Have Grasped A Theme. I Shall Not Forget It Even Years Later. I Change Many Things, Discard Others, And Try Again And Again Until I Am Satisfied; Then, In My Head... [the Work] Rises, It Grows, I Hear And See The Image N Front Of Me From Every Angle... And Only The Labor Of Writing It Down Remains... I Turn My Ideas Into Tones That Resound, Roar, And Rage Until At Last They Stand Before Me In The Form Of Notes.