A beautiful sunset that was mistaken for a dawn.
How much has to be explored and discarded before reaching the naked flesh of feeling.
I love music passionately. And because I love it I try to free it from barren traditions that stifle it.
In opera, there is always too much singing.
Music is the arithmetic of sounds as optics is the geometry of light.
Music is the expression of the movement of the waters, the play of curves described by changing breezes.
Music is the silence between the notes.
The color of my soul is iron-grey and sad bats wheel about the steeple of my dreams.
There is nothing is more musical than a sunset. He who feels what he sees will find no more beautiful example of development in all that book which, alas, musicians read but too little-the book of Nature.
