The Trouble With The Opera

On Those Who Overanalyze His Music: When You Tear The Wings Off A Butterfly, It Is No Longer A Butterfly

There Is Nothing More Musical Than A Sunset. He Who Feels What He Sees Will Find No More Beautiful Example Of Development In All That Book Which, Alas, Musicians Read But Too Little - The Book Of Nature.

Beauty Seems To Strike Some People As A Personal Affront.

He Was The Incomparable Painter Of Mystery, Silence, And The Infinite, Of The Passing Cloud, And The Sunlit Shimmer Of The Waves-subleties Which None Before Him Had Been Capable Of Suggesting.

The Colour Of My Soul Is Iron-grey And Sad Bats Wheel About The Steeple Of My Dreams.