Music is the space between the notes.

The sound of the sea, the curve of a horizon, wind in leaves, the cry of a bird leave manifold impression in us. And suddenly, without our wishing it at all, one of these memories spills from us and finds expression in musical language...I want to sing my interior landscape with the simple artlessness of a child.

The century of aeroplanes deserves its own music. As there are no precedents, I must create anew.

I have a horror of sentimentality, and I cannot forget that its name is Saint-Saëns.

But music, don't you know, is a dream from which the veils have been lifted. It's not even the expression of a feeling, it's the feeling itself.

He was the incomparable painter of mystery, silence, and the infinite, of the passing cloud, and the sunlit shimmer of the waves-subleties which none before him had been capable of suggesting.

First of all, ladies and gentlemen, you must forget that you are singers.