“Your bad love of yourselves makes solitude a prison to you. But let this be your honor: always to love more than you are loved and never to be second in this.”
“A dense, artistic kind of imperfection stimulates your consciousness, keeps you alert. If I listen to some utterly perfect performance of an utterly perfect piece while I’m driving, I might want to close my eyes and die right then and there. But listening to the D Major, I can feel the limits of what humans are capable of—that a certain type of perfection can only be realized through a limitless accumulation of the imperfect. And personally, I find that kind of encouraging.”