Franz Peter Schubert (German: [ˈfʁant͡s ˈʃuːbɐt]; 31 January 1797 – 19 November 1828) was an Austrian composer.
When all hopes of recognition or honor have faded into distant memory, when purity of heart meets sorrow of mind, when all the world seems to walk in blindness and yet a man works without wearying for that which he loves. . . only in this moment is passion truly understood
If only your pure and clean mind could touch me, dear Haydn, nobody has a greater reverence for you than I have.
Our castle is not imposing, but is well built, and surrounded by a very fine garden. I live in the bailiff's house.
The world resembles a stage on which every man is playing a part.
No one really understands the grief or joy of another.
I never force myself to be devout except when I feel so inspired, and never compose hymns of prayers unless I feel within me real and true devotion.
The guitar is a wonderful instrument which is understood by few.
Every night when I go to bed, I hope that I may never wake again, and every morning renews my grief.
One bites into the brass mouthpiece of his wooden cudgel, and the other blows his cheeks out on a French horn. Do you call that Art?
No one feels another's grief.
Love is in the air these days, so we thought we'd give a try to make your day a little brighter.
I try to decorate my imagination as much as I can.
There is no such thing as happy music.
Nobody understands another's sorrow, and nobody another's joy.
What a picture of a better world you have given us, Mozart!
No one understands another's grief, no one understands another's joy. . . My music is the product of my talent and my misery. And that which I have written in my greatest distress is what the world seems to like best.
No one really understands the grief or joy of another. We always imagine that we are approaching some other, but our lines of travel are actually parallel.
There are two contrary impulses which govern this man's brain-the one sane, and the other eccentric. They alternate at regular intervals.
Why does God endow us with compassion?
The manager is to be blamed who distributes parts to his players which they are unable to act.