With the coming of spring, I am calm again.
A symphony must be like the world. It must contain everything.
Tradition is not the worship of ashes, but the preservation of fire.
If a composer could say what he had to say in words he would not bother trying to say it in music.
The call of love sounds very hollow among these immobile rocks.
Fortunately, something always remains to be harvested. So let us not be idle.