Every Difficulty Slurred Over Will Be A

Sometimes I Can Only Groan, And Suffer, And Pour Out My Despair At The Piano.

Having Nothing To Do, I Am Correcting The Paris Edition Of Bach; Not Only The Engraver's Mistakes, But Also The Mistakes Hallowed By Those Who Are Supposed To Understand Bach (i Have No Pretensions To Understand Better, But I Do Think That Sometimes I Can Guess).

Bach Is Like An Astronomer Who, With The Help Of Ciphers, Finds The Most Wonderful Stars . . . Beethoven Embraced The Universe With The Power Of His Spirit . . . I Do Not Climb So High. A Long Time Ago I Decided That My Universe Will Be The Soul And Heart Of Man.

Here, Waltzes Are Called Works! And Strauss And Lanner, Who Play Them For Dancing, Are Called Kapellmeistern. This Does Not Mean That Everyone Thinks Like That; Indeed, Nearly Everyone Laughs About It; But Only Waltzes Get Printed.

After A Rest In Edinburgh, Where, Passing A Music-shop, I Heard Some Blind Man Playing A Mazurka Of Mine.