In the olden days, everybody sang. You were expected to sing as well as talk. It was a mark of the cultured man to sing.

Music, because of its specific and far-reaching metaphorical powers, can name the unnamable and communicate the unknowable.

This must be the mission of every man of goodwill: to insist, unflaggingly, at risk of becoming a repetitive bore, but to insist on the achievement of a world in which the mind will have triumphed over violence.

The 20th century has been a badly written drama, from the beginning.

To achieve great things, two things are needed; a plan, and not quite enough time.

From New Year's on the outlook brightens; good humor lost in a mood of failure returns. I resolve to stop complaining.

Life without music is unthinkable.