Did I become court composer through masterful procrastination? Hardly!

Claude rubs the back of his neck and wrinkles his nose, about to tell me he was never sad. I believe this is called bravado and is not limited to lawyers, or even men, although that combination makes it almost unavoidable.

The twin gods, Necessity and Chance, walked among the stars. What needed to be, was; what might be, sometimes was.

That’s the secret to performance: conviction. The right note played tentatively still misses its mark, but play boldly and no one will question you. If one believes there is truth in art – and I do – then it’s troubling how similar the skill of performing is to lying. Maybe lying is itself a kind of art. I think about that more than I should.

The world inside myself is vaster and richer than this paltry plane, peopled with mere galaxies and gods.

If I could keep a single moment for all time, that would be the one. I became the very air; I was full of stars.

I was drawn to his aloofness, the way cats gravitate toward people who’d rather avoid them.