Love Makes Use Of The Worst Traps.

Added To The Moral Solitude Of The Murderer Comes The Solitude Of The Artist, Which Can Acknowledge No Authority, Save That Of Another Artist.

There Is A Close Relationship Between Flowers And Convicts. The Fragility And Delicacy Of The Former Are Of The Same Nature As The Brutal Insensitivity Of The Latter.

I Could Not Take Lightly The Idea That People Made Love Without Me.

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 Within Me.

The Fame Of Heroes Owes Little To The Extent Of Their Conquests And All To The Success Of The Tributes Paid To Them.