When I hear what we call music, it seems to me that someone is talking. And talking about his feelings, or about his ideas of relationships. But when I hear traffic, the sound of traffic - here on Sixth Avenue, for instance - I don’t have the feeling that anyone is talking. I have the feeling that sound is acting. And I love the activity of sound... I don’t need sound to talk to me.

Ideas are one thing and what happens is another.

The white paintings came first; my silent piece came later.

Our business in living is to become fluent with the life we are living, and art can help this.

If this word "music" is sacred and reserved for eighteenth and nineteenth century instruments, we can substitute a more meaningful term: organization of sound.

Every something is an echo of nothing

A finished work is exactly that, requires resurrection.