We do not notice how poor are the words which the voice warbles.
It is the voice itself interpreting the soul of the musician which enchants and enthralls us.

And you who have that voice pretend to despise the gift.

What! despise the power of communicating delight!--the power that we authors envy; and rarely, if ever, can we give delight with so little alloy as the singer.
And when an audience disperses, can you guess what griefs the singer may have comforted?
what hard hearts he may have softened?
what high thoughts he may have awakened?
You say, "Out on the vamped-up hypocrite! Out on the stage-robes and painted cheeks!" I say, "Out on the morbid spirit which so cynically regards the mere details by which a whole effect on the minds and hearts and souls of races and nations can be produced!" There, have I scolded you sufficiently?
I should scold you more, if I did not see in the affluence of your youth and your intellect the cause of your restlessness.

Riches are always restless.

It is only to poverty that the gods give content.
You question me about love; you ask if I have ever bowed to a master, ever merged my life in another's: expect no answer on this from me.
Circe herself could give no answer to the simplest maid, who, never having loved, asks, "What is love ?" In the history of the passions each human heart is a world in itself; its experience profits no others.