“In a word, I feel that I am the unhappiest, most miserable person in the entire world. Imagine someone who […] is in danger of losing his enthusiasm for beauty, and ask yourself if that is not a miserable and unhappy wretch? I spend most of my days joyless and friendless, our reading circle has died a voluntary death.”
— Franz Schubert, in a letter to Leopold Kupelwieser, on 31 March 1824.

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