Everything We Feel Is Made

I Think I Did Have Fantasies About Being An Actor. In Fact, I Know I Did.

What Was Evident Was That Mozart Was Simply Transcribing Music Completely Finished In His Head. And Finished As Most Music Is Never Finished. Displace One Note And There Would Be Diminishment. Displace One Phrase And Structure Would Fall. I Was Staring Through The Cage Of Those Meticulous Ink Strokes At Absolute Beauty.

The Trouble Is If You Don’t Spend Your Life Yourself, Other People Spend It For You.

Everything We Feel Is Made Of Time. All The Beauties Of Life Are Shaped By It.

What Use, After All, Is Man, If Not To Teach God His Lessons?