We have a duty towards music, namely, to invent it.

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.

I wonder if memory is true, and I know that it cannot be, but that one lives by memory nevertheless and not by truth.

We cannot describe sound, but we cannot forget it either.

I know that the twelve notes in each octave and the variety of rhythm offer me opportunities that all of human genius will never exhaust.

The further one separates himself from the precepts of the Christian Church, the further one distances himself from the truth. Only God can create. I make music from music.

Silence, which will save from shame, will also deprive me of fame.