When I wished to sing of love, it turned to sorrow. And when I wished to sing of sorrow, it was transformed for me into love.

Nobody understands another's sorrow, and nobody another's joy.

If only your pure and clean mind could touch me, dear Haydn, nobody has a greater reverence for you than I have.

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.

I never force myself to be devout except when I feel so inspired, and never compose hymns of prayers unless I feel within me real and true devotion.

That farewell kiss which resembles greeting, that last glance of love which becomes the sharpest pang of sorrow.