In January 1944 I Was

There Is A Wonderful Hungarian Literature, Especially In Lyric Poetry.

I Don't Read Such Boring Things. Life Is Too Short.

But If You Go From Moscow To Budapest You Think You Are In Paris.

I Write Bars, For The Musicians, Because They Have To Be Together.

Now There Is No Taboo; Everything Is Allowed. But One Cannot Simply Go Back To Tonality, It’s Not The Way. We Must Find A Way Of Neither Going Back Nor Continuing The Avant-garde. I Am In A Prison: One Wall Is The Avant-garde, The Other Wall Is The Past, And I Want To Escape.