Beethoven the romantic grandeur which belongs to the storms of air and sea, and while the soul of Mozart seems to dwell on the ethereal peaks of Olympus, that of Beethoven climbs shuddering the storm-beaten sides of a Sinai. Each represents a moment of the ideal life, each does us good. Our love is due to both. Without passion man is a mere latent force and possibility, like the flint which awaits the shock of the iron before it can give forth its spark. Self-interest is but the survival of the animal in us.
Humanity only begins for man with self-surrender.
To know how to suggest is the great art of teaching. Then, by simply changing the key, we keep up the attraction and vary the song. One single black speck may be the beginning of a gangrene, of a storm, of a revolution. Uncertainty is the refuge of hope.