What We Need Is Hatred.

Erotic Play Discloses A Nameless World Which Is Revealed By The Nocturnal Language Of Lovers. Such Language Is Not Written Down. It Is Whispered Into The Ear At Night In A Hoarse Voice. At Dawn It Is Forgotten.

I Recognize In Thieves, Traitors And Murderers, In The Ruthless And The Cunning, A Deep Beauty - A Sunken Beauty.

I Leave You Free To Imagine Any Dialogue You Please. Choose Whatever May Charm You. Have It, If You Like, That They Hear The Voice Of The Blood, Or That They Fall In Love At First Sight... Conceive The Wildest Improbabilities. Have It That The Depths Of Their Beings Are Thrilled At Accosting Each Other In Slang. Tangle Them Suddenly In A Swift Embrace Or A Brotherly Kiss. Do Whatever You Like.

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

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.