My dear sister! I’m amazed to discover that you can compose so delightfully. In a word, your Lied is beautiful. You must compose more often.

Je ne vais jamais au lit sans réfléchir que le lendemain peut-être (si jeune que je sois) je ne serai plus là...; et pourtant personne, de tous ceux qui me connaissent, ne peut dire que je sois chagrin ou triste dans ma conversation...

Forgive me, Majesty. I am a vulgar man! But I assure you, my music is not.

What's even worse than a flute? - Two flutes!

Melody is the essence of music. I compare a good melodist to a fine racer, and counterpointists to hack post-horses; therefore be advised, let well alone and remember the old Italian proverb: Chi sa più, meno sa—Who knows most, knows least.

If people could see into my heart, I should almost feel ashamed - all there is cold, cold as ice.

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I thank my God for graciously granting me the opportunity . . . of learning that death is the key which unlocks the door to our true happiness

When I am traveling in a carriage or walking after a good meal or during the night when I cannot sleep–it is on such occasions that my ideas flow best and most abundantly.

The music is not in the notes, but in the silence between.

A man of ordinary talent will always be ordinary, whether he travels or not; but a man of superior talent will go to pieces if he remains forever in the same place.

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I ask you most humbly to continue loving me a little, and to be content for the moment with this token of a congratulation until new drawers can be made for my small little brain box, so I have a place to put the brain that I still hope to acquire.