My Compositions Spring From My

I Am In The World Only For The Purpose Of Composing.

If Only Your Pure And Clean Mind Could Touch Me, Dear Haydn, Nobody Has A Greater Reverence For You Than I Have.

My Compositions Spring From My Sorrows. Those That Give The World The Greatest Delight Were Born Of My Deepest Griefs.

Above All Things, I Must Not Get Angry. If I Do Get Angry I Knock All The Teeth Out Of The Mouth Of The Poor Wretch Who Has Angered Me.

No One Really Understands The Grief Or Joy Of Another. We Always Imagine That We Are Approaching Some Other, But Our Lines Of Travel Are Actually Parallel.