His heart keeps him awake while he's asleep. He listens to his heart while he falls asleep in bed. His artificial heart gives him insomnia. As long as I can hear the sound, I know I'm here. His heart keeps him alive while he's asleep. My heart helps me to sleep while I'm alive. Oh, patient, this Valentine is for you. I had no choice, I knew that I was dying. We are trying to survive. We are standing on the shoulders of the makers of the heart while we lie on our back in bed. They walk with their hearts on their sleeves and their noses to the grindstone. He listens to his heart while he falls asleep at night. Oh, Valentine, this contraption is for you, device of the sacred, the sacred heart. It feels heavy to me--it makes a constant whir which keeps me awake when I'm trying to get to sleep. It has no heartbeat, only this constant whir.
Can you imagine what is true, that smack in the middle of making The Magic Flute he interrupted himself to make “Ave Verum Corpus,” world’s most truth-telling motet (Who made its text? Maybe a pope), then got himself on track, back to TMF (all the while dealing with money worry and sickness of wife). When you get to the esto nobis cadence in “AVC,” you scale the spine of the European Enlightenment; when you get to the idiotic “Three Faithful Youths” chorus in TMF: “Three faithful youths we now will lend you Upon your journey they’ll attend you; Though young in years, these youths so fair Heed the words of wisdom rare!” you’re dealing with Bertie Wooster’s three best friends. Because he was Mozart, not a problem.