...we Make Our Lives By What We

A Finished Work Is Exactly That, Requires Resurrection.

Food, One Assumes, Provides Nourishment; But Americans Eat It Fully Aware That Small Amounts Of Poison Have Been Added To Improve Its Appearance And Delay Its Putrefaction.

Try As We May To Make A Silence, We Cannot.

When I Went To The Analyst For A Kind Of Preliminary Meeting, He Said, 'i'll Be Able To Fix You So That You'll Write Much More Music Than You Do Now.' I Said, 'good Heavens! I Already Write Too Much, It Seems To Me.' That Promise Of His Put Me Off.

Composing For The Prepared Piano Is Not A Criticism Of The Instrument. I'm Only Being Practical.