I have no style, because I change each time . . . each day I play differently. Today I play differently than yesterday.

Played percussively, the piano is a bore. If I go to a concert and someone plays like that I have two choices: go home or go to sleep. The goal is to make the piano sing, sing, sing.

My face is my passport.

My future is in my past and my past is my present. I must now make the present my future.

Your mind must control, but you must have heart . . . . Give your feeling free.

There are three kinds of pianists: Jewish pianists, homosexual pianists, and bad pianists.

Piano playing consists of common sense, heart and technical resources. All three should be equally developed. Without common sense you are a fiasco, without technique an amateur, without heart a machine. The profession does have its hazards.