...you must play for the little fellow in the last row of the balcony who only has fifty cents to pay for a ticket.

...you must play for the little fellow in the last row of the balcony who only has fifty cents to pay for a ticket.

For forty years I have play the oboe, and still I never know what is coming out. It is a perpetual anxiety. But maybe this is good-I have never the time to get myself bored.

I am very moody when I cook. I cook according to the way I feel at the moment. A little of this, a little of that, and almost always a coupcon of garlic. I never proceed by the rules.

Your playing is like salt water taffy. You see all the beautiful colors, red, yellow, blue, but they all taste the same.