Behind Me The Branches Of A Wasted

The Call Of Love Sounds Very Hollow Among These Immobile Rocks.

Discipline, Work. Work, Discipline.

The Further The Music Develops, The More Complex The Apparatus Used By The Composer To Express His Thoughts Becomes.

We All Return. It Is This Certainty That Gives Meaning To Life And It Does Not Make The Slightest Difference Whether Or Not In A Later Incarnation We Remember The Former Life. What Counts Is Not The Individual And His Comfort, But The Great Aspiration To The Perfect And The Pure Which Goes On In Each Incarnation.

It Is Easier To Achieve A Desired Result In Short Pieces.