To think, when one is no longer young, when one is not yet old, that one is no longer young, that one is not yet old, that is perhaps something.

The loss of my sight was a great fillip. If I could go deaf and dumb I think I might pant on to be a hundred.

My work is a matter of fundamental sounds (no joke intended) made as fully as possible, and I accept responsibility for nothing else. If people want to have headaches among the overtones, let them. And provide their own aspirin.

Silence and darkness were all I craved. Well, I get a certain amount of both. They being one.

The tears of the world are a constant quantity. For each one who begins to weep somewhere else another stops. The same is true of the laugh. Let us not then speak ill of our generation, it is not any unhappier than its predecessors. Let us not speak well of it either. Let us not speak of it at all. It is true the population has increased.

What goes by the name of love is banishment, with now and then a postcard from the homeland, such is my considered opinion, this evening.

To be an artist is to fail, as no other dare fail, that failure is his world and the shrink from desertion, art and craft, good housekeeping, living.