Each piano is unique. Each feels different beneath your hand and yields a new geography of sound. Each room or hall accepts that sound in a completely different way, and if, within that room or hall, the piano is moved, the sound will change, as it will if the hall is full of people in thick winter coats, or half full of people in light summer dresses. You must adjust your touch, your tone, your range; you must LISTEN, for even the most familiar passages can become unfamiliar, challenging, strange.
A. Manette AnsayInfatuation is the inciting incident. Maybe it goes somewhere, maybe it doesn't, but you can't have a story without it. Love is the story itself, the thing we carry with us after the mountains are gone.
A. Manette AnsayYou know the one about the old man whose grandson is getting married? Just before the wedding, he calls the boy in for a chat. “My child,” he says, “I want you to know that all marriages go through phases. At first, you and you wife will make love all the time. But then, as the children come along, you will find that you are having sex less and less. And by the time they are grown and gone, you’ll be just like your grandmother and me. All you’ll ever have is oral sex. I just wanted you to know how things will go.” The boy looks at him, incredulous. “You and Grandma have oral sex?” “Every single night,” the old man says, “and it’s a perfectly natural thing. She goes into her bedroom and calls, ‘Fuck you!’ And I go into my bedroom and call back to her, ‘No, fuck you!
A. Manette AnsayFor art is about desire, is it not, and never its consummation?
A. Manette AnsayWho else but a lover retains the ability to wound the other person with such passion, such precision? And who else but that lover has the capacity to heal what he or she has done?
A. Manette AnsayTag: lover
One cannot exchange ideas with a rational person any more than one can argue with a religious fanatic.
A. Manette AnsayReligion in this country is worse than communism. Say the wrong thing, think the wrong thing and, look--there's the Stasi knocking at your door.
A. Manette AnsayIt is a lonely thing, remembering for someone else.
A. Manette AnsayTag: lonely
If we just had some time to ourselves, we could talk to each other the way we used to. Maybe about nothing in particular at first, but even that would be a start.
A. Manette AnsayTag: marriage sad talk talking
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