Nothing is likely about masterpieces, least of all whether there will be any.
To continue in one path is to go backward.
I had another dream the other day about music critics. They were small and rodent-like with padlocked ears, as if they had stepped out of a painting by Goya.
Why is it that whenever I hear a piece of music I don't like, it's always by Villa Lobos?
Mediocrity borrows, genius steals.
To listen is an effort, and just to hear is no merit. A duck hears also.