Love is the only bow of life's dark cloud. It is the Morning and Evening Star. It shines upon the cradle of the babe, and sheds its radiance upon the quiet tomb. It is the Mother of Art, inspirer of poet, patriot, and philosopher. It is the air and light of every heart, builder of every home, kinder of every fire on every hearth, It was the first dream of immortality. It fills the world with melody. Love is the magician, the enchanter, that changes worthless things to joy, and makes right royal kings of common clay.
Love was as subtly caught, as a disease; But being got it is a treasure sweet, which to defend is harder than to get: And ought not be profaned on either part, for though 'Tis got by chance, 'Tis kept by art.
Making music is voluntary. Unlike bread, we don’t require it for our sustenance. Accordingly, music shouldn’t require its pound of flesh from the would-be listener. The price of art should be set by the market, by the listener, not by a machine with political interests.
Man is full of energy; it is up to him how to use it! You can use your energy to do harm to people or to produce art and science; or you can use it for chattering or for deceiving people! By looking at the human history, we can easily say that man is guilty of wasting his energy mostly for stupid things!