I Am Hitting My Head Against The

With The Coming Of Spring, I Am Calm Again.

It Is Strange How One Feels Drawn Forward Without Knowing At First Where One Is Going.

If A Composer Could Say What He Had To Say In Words He Would Not Bother Trying To Say It In Music.

Behind Me The Branches Of A Wasted And Sterile Existence Are Cracking.

In Its Beginnings, Music Was Merely Chamber Music, Meant To Be Listened To In A Small Space By A Small Audience.