I’ve been asked the following on more than one occasion:
“Who do you like more, Mozart or Beethoven?”
The response is as follows:
Some spluttering – “How dare… I don’t….”- followed by a narrowing of the eyes.
“I love them both the same.”
Beethoven and Mozart have been constant, steady figures in my life for many years. The earliest memory I have of them is from middle school, when I was trying hard to work on a project and couldn’t focus until my mom put a “Smart Symphonies” CD on. My ears pricked – there they were. Beautiful and safe and strangely familiar.
I cannot possibly choose between the two. I love them both fiercely. It tears me apart to even think of who could be better, so I don’t.
Besides, how could you pick a favorite from them?
Beethoven: “Beethoven can write, thank God; but do nothing else on earth.”
Mozart: “Our riches, being in our brains, die with us… Unless of course someone chops off our head, in which case we won’t need them anyway.”
Two brilliant, sarcastic souls.