Inspiration could be called inhaling the memory of an act never experienced.

Minor artists borrow, great ones steal.

Arguably, no artist grows up: If he sheds the perceptions of childhood, he ceases being an artist.

Quarrels in France strengthen a love affair, in America they end it.

Why, after all, must everyone like music? That they are missing something is just the lover's opinion.

The Great don't innovate, they fertilize seeds planted by lackeys, they leave to others the inhaling of the flowers whose roots they've manured. A deceptive memory may be the key to their originality.

Artists, by definition innocent, don't steal. But they do borrow without giving back.