The World Is No Longer A Romantic

One Day When I Was Studying With Schoenberg, He Pointed Out The Eraser On His Pencil And Said, 'this End Is More Important Than The Other.' After Twenty Years I Learned To Write Directly In Ink.

Every Something Is An Echo Of Nothing

The World Is Teeming; Anything Can Happen.

A Sound Does Not View Itself As Thought, As Ought, As Needing Another Sound For Its Elucidation, As Etc.; It Has Not Time For Any Consideration--it Is Occupied With The Performance Of Its Characteristics: Before It Has Died Away It Must Have Made Perfectly Exact Its Frequency, Its Loudness, Its Length, Its Overtone Structure, The Precise Morphology Of These And Of Itself.

In An Utter Emptiness Anything Can Take Place.