My childhood was a period of waiting for the moment when I could send everyone and everything connected with it to hell.

The more constraints one imposes, the more one frees one's self. And the arbitrariness of the constraint serves only to obtain precision of execution.

What I cannot follow are the manic-depressive fluctuations from total control to no control, from the serialization of all elements to chance.

Music is given to us with the sole purpose of establishing an order in things, including, and particularly, the coordination between man and time.

We can neither put back the clock nor slow down our forward speed, and as we are already flying pilotless, on instrument controls, it is even too late to ask where we are going.

Vivaldi didn't write 400 concertos; he wrote one concerto 400 times.

Why is it that whenever I hear a piece of music I don't like, it's always by Villa Lobos?