Maurice Gustave Duruflé was a complex man. Of a dark and brooding temperament, he had a keen intellect, a breadth of character, a penetrating soul, and a rich cultural aptitude. Though short as to physical stature and retiring by nature, he had the disposition of a great man. And though his musical and spiritual imagination were vast, they were not prolific.

Duruflé's music reveals an important dimension of his personality, a dimension that would otherwise remain invisible, thus rendering him even more complex than at first glance. Many have noted how his gloomy constitution was so different from the luminous character of his music. Even those who knew him well believed that he had little resemblance to his music. One cannot know Duruflé without knowing his music.

Duruflé was modest. Even late in his life, when one might expect his recital career to have inured him to accolade, he remained self-effacing and sheepishly acknowledged compliments from admirers. When asked by one of his harmony students to present his Requiem or his organ works during class, out of his sense of modesty he refused categorically. In the introductory remarks for an article, written when he was seventy-eight years old, he asked the reader's pardon for his audacity in referring to his own Requiem, detestable as it is, he wrote, to speak of oneself.

But Duruflé was not merely modest; he was also shy. Taciturn and disinclined to speak, as Marie-Claire Alain wrote, “He was timid and he spoke little. He hesitated to open his thoughts… .” And yet his timidity did not cower under threat. It did not prevent his speaking his mind on matters important to him, writing for professional organ journals and for the secular and religious press, or declaring his position on contentious issues. Even so, he would blush like an adolescent when defending an idea or personal sentiment.