Try As We May To

The Indians Long Ago Knew That Music Was Going On Permanently And That Hearing It Was Like Looking Out A Window At A Landscape Which Didn't Stop When One Turned Away.

All Great Art Is A Form Of Complaint

Where Does Beauty Begin? Where Does It End? Where It Ends Is Where The Artist Begins.

If This Word "music" Is Sacred And Reserved For Eighteenth And Nineteenth Century Instruments, We Can Substitute A More Meaningful Term: Organization Of Sound.

I Am Trying To Check My Habits Of Seeing, To Counter Them For The Sake Of Greater Freshness. I Am Trying To Be Unfamiliar With What I'm Doing.