The Secret Is Not To Betray Your

...a Strange Art – Music – The Most Poetic And Precise Of All The Arts, Vague As A Dream And Precise As Algebra.

I Love The Night Passionately... I Love It With All My Senses: I Love To See It, I Love To Breathe It In, I Love To Open My Ears To Its Silence, I Love My Whole Body To Be Caressed By Its Blackness.

I Have Coveted Everything And Taken Pleasure In Nothing

I Told Myself: 'i Am Surrounded By Unknown Things.' I Imagined Man Without Ears, Suspecting The Existence Of Sound As We Suspect So Many Hidden Mysteries, Man Noting Acoustic Phenomena Whose Nature And Provenance He Cannot Determine. And I Grew Afraid Of Everything Around Me – Afraid Of The Air, Afraid Of The Night. From The Moment We Can Know Almost Nothing, And From The Moment That Everything Is Limitless, What Remains? Does Emptiness Actually Not Exist? What Does Exist In This Apparent Emptiness?

There Are In France Some Fifty Thousand Young Men Of Good Birth And Fairly Well Off Who Are Encouraged To Live A Life Of Complete Idleness. They Must Either Cease To Exist Or Must Come To See That There Can Be No Happiness, No Health Even, Without Regular Daily Labor Of Some Sort... The Need Of Work Is In Me.