Ah … those annoying people who talk at concerts. Don’t you just want to hit them over the head? I sure do. I read this:
The evening came upon us quicker than you might think possible;—anyway, it was time for the opera.—As far as the performance of this opera is concerned I cannot tell you anything special, because I was talking too much.
Yikes, this person not only talked during the opera, but he admitted it. In writing. The nerve. I’d like to hunt him down … but unfortunately he’s dead.
Silly Mozart.
(I’m reading Mozart’s Letters, Mozart’s Life right now, in case you’re wondering where I found this.)
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