Cosima:
I've polished your sword! What do you want it for, to kill the critics?
Liszt:
Time kills critics, my dear.
Liszt:
Piss off, Brahms!
Marie d'Agoult:
Spare him, Francois! Don't cut off his... genius in it's prime!
Count d'Agoult:
Oh, is that what you call it?
Richard Wagner:
So you're the jid who only makes music on a cash register?
Felix Mendelsohn:
Music, shmusic, it's a living, dear boy.
Liszt:
I know it sounds improbable, Your Holiness, but I...
The Pope:
But truth is stranger than fiction? We've kept going for two thousand years on that one.
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