Glenn Gould Quotations

Everybody loves this place. It is so beautiful; everybody reaches out to one another.

u201Che G-minor Symphony consists of eight remarkable measures surrounded by a half-hour of banality.

I don't know what the effective ratio would be, but I've always had some sort of intuition that for every hour you spend in the company of other human beings, you need "x" number of hours alone. Now, what "x" represents I don't really know; it might be two and seven-eighths or seven and two-eighths, but it is a substantial ratio.

Once I turned pro, so to speak, I put away childish things forever.

A record is a concert without halls and a museum whose curator is the owner.

Mozart died too late rather than too soon.

The prerequisite of contrapuntal art, more conspicuous in the work of Bach than in that of any other composer, is an ability to conceive a priori of melodic identities which when transposed, inverted, made retrograde, or transformed rhythmically will yet exhibit, in conjunction with the original subject matter, some entirely new but completely harmonious profile.

My moods are inversely related to the clarity of the sky.

[Bach is the] reason I became a musician

The final, unfinished fugue from The Art of Fugue is the greatest piece of music ever composed.

The nature of the contrapuntal experience is that every note has to have a past and a future on the horizontal plane.

I don't approve of people who watch television, but I am one of them.

I detest audiences - not in their individual components, but en masse I detest audiences. I think they're a force of evil. It seems to me rule of mob law.

The justification of art is the internal combustion it ignites in the hearts of men, and not its shallow, externalized, public manifestations.

Whenever one honestly defies a tradition, one becomes, in reality, the more responsible to it.

The mental imagery involved with pianistic tactilia is not related to the striking of individual keys but rather to the rites of passage between notes.

The trouble begins when we start to be so impressed by the strategies of our systematized thought that we forget that it does relate to an obverse, that it is hewn from negation, that it is but very small security against the void of negation which surrounds it.

The purpose of art is the lifelong construction of a state of wonder.

There is a craft and a power in listening.

If an artist wants to use his mind for creative work, cutting oneself off from society is a necessary thing

One does not play the piano with one's fingers, one plays the piano with one's mind.

I tend to follow a very nocturnal sort of existence mainly because I don't much care for sunlight. Bright colors of any kind depress me, in fact. And my moods are more or less inversely related to the clarity of the sky, on any given day.... my private motto has always been that behind every silver lining there is a cloud.

Theirs [the Beatles] is a happy, cocky, belligerently resourceless brand of harmonic primitivism... In the Liverpudlian repertoire, the indulged amateurishness of the musical material, though closely rivaled by the indifference of the performing style, is actually surpassed only by the ineptitude of the studio production method. (Strawberry Fields suggests a chance encounter at a mountain wedding between Claudio Monteverdi and a jug band.)

I believe that the only excuse we have for being musicians and for making music in any fashion, is to make it differently, to perform it differently, to establish the music's difference, vis-a-vis our own difference.

Isolation is the indispensable component of human happiness.

The purpose of art is not the release of a momentary ejection of adrenaline but rather the gradual, lifelong construction of a state of wonder and serenity.

I think that if I were required to spend the rest of my life on a desert island, and to listen to or play the music of any one composer during all that time, that composer would almost certainly be Bach.

The G-minor Symphony consists of eight remarkable measures surrounded by a half-hour of banality.