I had another dream the other day about music critics. They were small and rodent-like with padlocked ears, as if they had stepped out of a painting by Goya.
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"What is modern music anyway? I don't care a damn about so-called modern music. You ask whether my style is modern. My style is my style, that's all…"
"An artist is simply a kind of pig snouting truffles."
"The artist is a vessel for the divine."
"Silence will save me from being wrong (and foolish), but it will also deprive me of the possibility of being right."
"We in Russia have our Trotskys, and I myself should be highly annoyed if anyone were to take them for authentic Russians."
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