Do not become paralyzed and enchained by the set patterns which have been woven of old. No, build from your own youthful feeling, your own groping thought and your own flowering perception.

But to me the actual sound of the words is all important; I feel always that the words complete the music and must never be swallowed up in it.

The music is the shining path over which the poet travels to bring his song to the world.

For what mission can be greater than that of giving to the world hours of exaltation in which it may forget the misery of the present, the cares of everyday life and lose itself in the eternally pure world of harmony. . .

Whenever I attempted to sing of love, it turned to pain. And again, when I tried to sing of pain, it turned to love. Thus were love and pain divided in me.

I had hoped you would protest, but please don't argue.