A symphony must be like the world. It must contain everything. 
Beauty and fullness of tone can be achieved by having the whole orchestra play with high clarinets and a carefully selected number of piccolos.
Behind me the branches of a wasted and sterile existence are cracking.
Destiny smiles upon me but without making me the least bit happier.
Discipline, work. Work, discipline.
Don't bother looking at the view - I have already composed it.
Even if people censure me, they should do so hat in hand.
Fortunately, something always remains to be harvested. So let us not be idle.
I also had a brother who was like me a musician and a composer. A man of great talent, far more gifted than I. He died very young . . . he killed himself in the prime of his life.
I am hitting my head against the walls, but the walls are giving way.
In the theatrical works we love and admire the most, the ending of the drama generally takes place offstage.
It is easier to achieve a desired result in short pieces.
It is strange how one feels drawn forward without knowing at first where one is going.
It should be one's sole endeavor to see everything afresh and create it anew.