We Are Involved In A Life That

It's Useless To Play Lullabies For Those Who Cannot Sleep.

All Great Art Is A Form Of Complaint

A Sound Does Not View Itself As Thought, As Ought, As Needing Another Sound For Its Elucidation, As Etc.; It Has Not Time For Any Consideration--it Is Occupied With The Performance Of Its Characteristics: Before It Has Died Away It Must Have Made Perfectly Exact Its Frequency, Its Loudness, Its Length, Its Overtone Structure, The Precise Morphology Of These And Of Itself.

Everything I See Is Something I Haven't Memorized.

I Want To Change My Way Of Seeing, Not My Way Of Feeling. I Was Perfectly Happy About My Feelings.