Music is the arithmetic of sounds as optics is the geometry of light.

The colour of my soul is iron-grey and sad bats wheel about the steeple of my dreams.

On those who overanalyze his music: When you tear the wings off a butterfly, it is no longer a butterfly

But music, don't you know, is a dream from which the veils have been lifted. It's not even the expression of a feeling, it's the feeling itself.

People come to music to seek oblivion: is that not also a form of deception?

Some people wish above all to conform to the rules, I wish only to render what I can hear.