…but I destroy myself thereby.

Summer is indeed a burden in the town… Of course, I try to keep all alluring thoughts out of my head, but can’t always succeed; my early days, with their fresh impressions, storm in on my soul, and I live all the past over again… Human beings have an incredible amount of endurance and will…

A long, long road without a goal…

Whereas I think: I’m lying here in a haystack… The tiny space I occupy is so infinitesimal in comparison with the rest of space, which I don’t occupy and which has no relation to me. And the period of time in which I’m fated to live is so insignificant beside the eternity in which I…

The excellency of every art is its intensity…

Heart! Thou and I are here sad and alone; I say, why did I laugh! O mortal pain! O Darkness! Darkness! ever must I moan, To question Heaven and Hell and Heart in vain. Why did I laugh tonight? No voice will tell Mr. Keats, meeting him (William Wordsworth) one day at Mr. Haydon’s, —…

The natural state of the soul is rest!

Here’s a whole fortnight that my mind and fingers have been working like two lost spirits, = Homer, the Bible, Plato, Locke, Byron, Hugo, Lamartine, Chateaubriand, Beethoven, Bach, Hummel, Mozart, Weber, are all around me. I study them, meditate on them, devour them with fury… Liszt in a Letter to Pierre Wolf – Paris, May…

He had been born for hopes and for joys…

Everyone saw in my face evil traits that I didn’t possess. But they assumed I did, and so they developed. I was modest, and was accused of being deceitful: I became secretive. I had a strong sense of good and evil; instead of kindness I received nothing but insults, so I grew resentful. I was…

But I will write in spite of everything.

“This tremendous world I have inside of me. How to free myself, and this world, without tearing myself to pieces. And rather tear myself to a thousand pieces than be buried with this world within me.” from his Diaries “I am constantly trying to communicate something incommunicable, to explain something inexplicable, to tell about something I…

To live, to err, to fall, to triumph.

In Joyce, one can find the boundaries of tradition and innovation closely entwined. Perhaps no other author can perfectly embody that turn-of-the-century decadent style with the desire to explore a new world free of the literary conventions and convictions that had previously reigned. And while reading his work, one can find that eagerness and excitement…

How weary we are of wandering…

As much a controversy and countless consideration there has been, Richard Strauss’s permanence on a pantheon of composers remains undeniable. How can it be otherwise, when one hears the soaring heights of his Alpensinfonie or tastes the decadent rejoicements of Der Rosenkavalier? He remains a man that embodies a time and its attitudes, perhaps in all…

I am free as air, and the whole world is my haven.

But whether I put the question to my head, heart, or reason, view it in the light of past, present, or future, or according to my abilities, hopes, or prospects, everything from my childhood onwards points to an artistic career. Ask yourself frankly, as you think about my childhood, boyhood, and early manhood, in what…

The experience of this sweet life.

The man who lies asleep will never waken fame, and his desire and all his life drift past him like a dream, and the traces of his memory fade from and his desire and all his life drift past him like a dream, and the traces of his memory fade from time like smoke in…