"The poet is in a sad state of 'wanting and not being able.' He hears the flow of great rivers, passing by in silence, with no one else to hear their music. On his brow he feels the coolness of the reeds, swaying in the No Man's Land. He wants to feel the dialogue of the winds that tremble in the moss... He wants to penetrate the music of the sap running in the dark silence of huge treetrunks... He wants to press his ear to the sleeping girl and understand the Morse code of her heart... He wants... But he cannot.(xi)"
"The tragic, awesome thing about the human heart and the incomprehensible, terrifying nature of human desire is that if men achieve the dreams they are yearning for, they feel no happier having possessed them... They feel an illusion that is their constant torment, and if, after much suffering, they achieve it, they find only the worst sort of ennui and disgust. This, which is so enormously painful and tragic, occurs both in the spiritual realm and in the physical. And thus the suffering caused by an absent love is useless and frightful. If a man loves intensely... when he possesses his constant pain his illusion is wiped away little by little, and when the sacrifice is consummated, his tower of desires and yearning comes tumbling down, and he is turned a into a man like any other. (xii)"
"With words one says human things. With music one expresses what no one knows or can define, but which exists in everyone with greater or lesser force. Music is the art par excellence. (xii)"
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