Anyone who knows a strange fact shares in its singularity.
The fame of heroes owes little to the extent of their conquests and all to the success of the tributes paid to them.
Perhaps all music, even the newest, is not so much something discovered as something that re-emerges from where it lay buried in the memory, inaudible as a melody cut in a disc of flesh. A composer lets me hear a song that has always been shut up silent.
What we need is hatred. From it our ideas are born.
To achieve harmony in bad taste is the height of elegance.
