I Don't Know How It Is, But

Simplicity Is The Final Achievement. After One Has Played A Vast Quantity Of Notes And More Notes, It Is Simplicity That Emerges As The Crowning Reward Of Art.

I Haven't Heard Anything So Great For A Long Time; Beethoven Snaps His Fingers At The Whole World.

We Fell Silent And All Joking Ceased. We Gazed Mutely Into Each Other's Eyes And An Intense Longing For The Fullest Avowal Of The Truth Forced Us To A Confession, Requiring No Words Whatever, Or The Incommensurable Misfortune That Weighed Upon Us. With Tears And Sobs We Sealed A Vow To Belong To Each Other Alone.

It's A Huge Carthusian Monastery, Stuck Down Between Rocks And Sea, Where You May Imagine Me, Without White Gloves Or Hair Curling, As Pale As Ever, In A Cell With Such Doors As Paris Never Had For Gates. The Cell Is The Shape Of A Tall Coffin, With An Enormous Dusty Vaulting, A Small Window... Bach, My Scrawls And Waste Paper - Silence - You Could Scream - There Would Still Be Silence. Indeed, I Write To You From A Strange Place.

I Tell My Piano The Things I Used To Tell You