... to express the turmoil of my soul, its infinite indulgence in the expression of triumph, Joy, Sadness, Defeat, Bacchanalian proclivities, transcendental mysticism, Despair, the groping for the unknown and unknowable, all the seemingly, but, perhaps, not really, heterogenous elements that form the integral entity of my individuality.

I want that my dirty Alcoholic heart should shit itself out on the piano.

I am an artist of life, and I express myself at the piano. I have confidence in my own instincts and I don't worry about the purists.

I live freely. I live as Liszt composes and as Oscar Wilde writes.

It must be, I suppose, that innately there is something in me that is very close to Liszt's way of feeling, or to Liszt's spiritual nature, and that I felt since I was about twelve years old, and it has remained so without any change whatsoever, although I was told at the time that I would 'outgrow' Liszt. But I certainly didn't outgrow him, and Liszt didn't outgrow me. We are on very friendly terms, spiritually speaking, and it's a tremendous feeling, because if this message -- what I am able to do through the works of Liszt and perhaps for the glory of Liszt -- does succeed, at least to some extent, that is a source of profound gratification to me. It really is. If it does."