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The tea is ice-cold, the room grows colder and colder, but I grow warmer and warmer.
I wish to lead a life free from care, and I see that I shall be unhappy if I cannot always work at my art.
Every man has his faults; I have and so have you - you will allow me to say so!
Why hurry over beautiful things? Why not linger and enjoy them?
If I have known much trouble in my youth, I have also known much joy.
I cannot be so bad when everybody is so fond of me.
Treasures are no longer to be got by instrumental art.
Is an artist much more than a beggar?
My health may be better preserved if I exert myself less, but in the end doesn't each person give his life for his calling?
My imagination can picture no fairer happiness than to continue living for art.