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

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.

I take no pride in my artistic talents; they are God-given and I see absolutely no reason to become puffed up over something that one has received.

Nothing is likely about masterpieces, least of all whether there will be any.

There is music wherever there is rhythm, as there is life wherever there beats a pulse.

I knew I had to write a Mass of my own, but a real one.

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.