Music is harmony, harmony is perfection, perfection is our dream, and our dream is heaven.
Dreams are excursions into the limbo of things, a semi-deliverance from the human prison.
Peace is not in itself a dream, but we know it only as the result of a momentary equilibrium--an accident.
I have never felt any inward assurance of genius, or any presentiment of glory or of happiness. I have never seen myself in imagination great or famous, or even a husband, a father, an influential citizen. This indifference to the future, this absolute self-distrust, are, no doubt, to be taken as signs. What dreams I have are all vague and indefinite; I ought not to live, for I am now scarcely capable of living.
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