I also had a brother who was like me a musician and a composer. A man of great talent, far more gifted than I. He died very young... he killed himself in the prime of his life.

The call of love sounds very hollow among these immobile rocks.

In the theatrical works we love and admire the most, the ending of the drama generally takes place offstage.

It is always the same with me; only when I experience something do I compose, and only when composing do I experience! After all, a musician's nature can hardly be expressed in words.

I don't choose what I compose. It chooses me.

That which draws us by its mystical force; what every created thing, even the very stones, feels with absolute certainty as the center of its being... is the force of love. Christians call this "eternal blessedness." It is a necessity of man for growth and joy.

Don't bother to look, I've composed all this already.