“The Prince stood beside the timpanist to count his rests for him and see that he came in in the right place. I suppressed all the trumpet passages which were clearly beyond the players' grasp. The solitary trombone was left… — Hector Berlioz Copy Share Image
“Fresh proof of the risks you run in writing about players, and of the advisability of not standing to leeward of their self-esteem when one has had the misfortune to wound it in the slightest degree. When you criticize a… — Hector Berlioz Copy Share Image
Time, time - that is our greatest master! Alas, like Ugolino, time devours its own children. — Hector Berlioz Copy Share
It is not enough that the artist should be well prepared for the public. The public must be well prepared for what it is… — Hector Berlioz Copy Share
“Time is a great teacher, but unfortunately it kills all its students." [ Letter, November 1856 ]” — Hector Berlioz Copy Share
Heine commenting on the music of Louis Hector Berlioz: He is an immense nightingale, a lark as great as an eagle. . . .… — Hector Berlioz Copy Share
At least I have the modesty to admit that lack of modesty is one of my failings. — Hector Berlioz Copy Share
“One evening we were exploring the Baths of Caracalla together, while debating the question of merit or demerit in human behaviour and its rewards… — Hector Berlioz Copy Share
“A life without once reading Hamlet is like a life spent in a coal mine.” — Hector Berlioz Copy Share
It is so rare...to find a complete person, with a soul, a heart and an imagination; so rare for characters as ardent and restless… — Hector Berlioz Copy Share
A feeble mind, conscious of its own feebleness, grows feeble under that very consciousness. As soon as the power of fear becomes known to… — Hector Berlioz Copy Share
It is difficult to put into words what I suffered-the longing that seemed to be tearing my heart out by the roots, the dreadful… — Hector Berlioz Copy Share
“Life when one first arrives is a continual mortification as one's romantic illusions are successively shattered and the musical treasure-house of one's imagination crumbles… — Hector Berlioz Copy Share
