If I write a song, ‘No More of Love,’ let it be made clear that the words are filched from an old, Italian madrigal. They are separate from my feelings for Count Anton Friedrich, Herr Franz D’Yppold, the Baron Von Molk , Jakob Hofmann or any other admirer from my past. I remain open to fresh enthusiasms, though quite now, my mind is on semiquavers and pearly cascades in the form of a C minor arpeggio or two.
‘I do not want to love …because I do not wish to suffer…. for the soul, when bound by love, is gnawed at by grief… and swallowed by pain… I wish no more to love, no, no, no, no.’
Aha. Yes, yes, yes, yes… I compose so well!
Maria Anna Walburga Ignatia Addlepated Mozart… Or just, plain Nan