Upon the creatures we have made, we are, ourselves, at last, dependent.
The Pole listening to Chopin listens to the voice of his whole race.
Art is great only when it bears the stamp of the individual.
Chopin was an invalid, as you know, but his music was volcanic.
Change follows change in us, almost without transition; we pass from blissful rapture to sobbing woe; a single step divides our sublimest ecstasies from the darkest depth of spiritual despondency.
Musical expression is never primarily national, but is personal and individual rather. It is so deep, so profound, that it goes beyond and below nationality and gives voice to the most private feeling. In music there is never exact heredity. Each man is an individual.
Rhythm is the pulse of music.
I hate pretty. It’s a very empty word. It gives a bad name to beauty.
If some people are right, artists are put into this world not to practice their art, but to talk about it. And judging by the flattering invitations many a humble climber will receive to pontificate from the lowest rung but one of the ladder, humanity is in a dangerously receptive frame of mind, and artists a race devoid of either modesty or sense of humor.
In U. S. elections, the term "October surprise" has come to mean an event in the closing weeks or days of a presidential campaign that could affect or even alter the outcome.
I've learned a lot about women. I think I've learned exactly how the fall of man occured in the Garden of Eden. Adam and Eve were in the Garden of Eden, and Adam said one day, Wow, Eve, here we are, at one with nature, at one with God, we'll never age, we'll never die, and all our dreams come true the instant that we have them. And Eve said, Yeah. . . it's just not enough is it?