What use, after all, is man, if not to teach God His lessons?

My actual childhood, as opposed to my adolescence, was not spent in London.

Passion, you see, can be destroyed by a doctor. It cannot be created.

I think I did have fantasies about being an actor. In fact, I know I did.

A child is born into a world of phenomena all equal in their power to enslave.

Worship isn't destructive, Martin. I know that. I don't. I only know it's the core of his life. What else has he got? He can hardly read. He knows no physics or engineering to make to world real for him. No paintings to show him how others have enjoyed it. No music except television jingles. No history except tales from a desperate mother. No friends. Not one kid to give him a joke, or make him know himself more moderately. He's a modern citizen for whom society doesn't exist.

What was evident was that Mozart was simply transcribing music completely finished in his head. And finished as most music is never finished. Displace one note and there would be diminishment. Displace one phrase and structure would fall. I was staring through the cage of those meticulous ink strokes at Absolute Beauty.