French is, in many ways, more difficult for an English-speaking person to sing. It is so full of complex and trying vowels. It requires the utmost subtlety.
The sincerity of the art worker must permeate the song as naturally as the green leaves break through the dead branches in springtime.
Just as the bird sings or the butterfly soars, because it is his natural characteristic, so the artist works.
The real artist has no idea that he is sacrificing himself for art. He does what he does for one reason and one reason only-he can't help doing it.
Inspired by the purse rather than the soul, the mercenary side fairly screams in many of the works put out by every day American publishers.
The student who deceives himself into thinking that he is giving his life like an ascetic in the spirit of sacrifice for art, is the victim of a deplorable species of egotism.
