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

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

I haven't understood a bar of music in my life, but I have felt it.

Too many pieces of music finish too long after the end.

Mediocrity borrows, genius steals.

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.