I once believed that I possessed creative talent, but I have given up this idea; a woman must not desire to compose β there has never yet been one able to do it. Should I expect to be the one?
Clara SchumannRead
There is nothing greater than the joy of composing something oneself and then listening to it.
Interpretation
Creating music brings unparalleled joy and satisfaction.
Clara Schumann expresses the profound joy that comes from the act of creating music. Composing allows individuals to channel their emotions and ideas into something beautiful, and there is immense fulfillment in both the creation and the enjoyment of that music.
In practice
During a speech at a music festival, one could say, 'As Clara Schumann once said, there is nothing greater than the joy of composing something oneself and then listening to it.'
I once believed that I possessed creative talent, but I have given up this idea; a woman must not desire to compose β there has never yet been one able to do it. Should I expect to be the one?
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?
Composing gives me great pleasure... there is nothing that surpasses the joy of creation, if only because through it one wins hours of self-forgetfulness, when one lives in a world of sound.
I cannot give a single concert at which I do not play one piece after the other in an agony of terror because my memory threatens to fail me. This fear torments me for days beforehand.
I'm fairly certain when I die that the obituary will say, 'Author of 'Angels in America' dies.' Unless I'm completely forgotten, and then it won't say anything at all.
If everybody became a poet the world would be much better. We would all read to each other.
Guitar was just a hobby, but it seemed to me that the instrument had possibilities, not least of which was that there was no one else playing it. I could be, as it were, the best boy in an all-girls school.
For to articulate sweet sounds together Is to work harder than all these, and yet Be thought an idler by the noisy set Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen The martyrs call the world.
Gently touching with the charm of poetry.
The artist committing himself to his calling has volunteered for hell, whether he knows it or not. He will be dining for the duration on a diet of isolation, rejection, self-doubt, despair, ridicule, contempt, and humiliation.
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