Perfection Itself Is Imperfection.

My Face Is My Passport.

If You Want Me To Play Only The Notes Without Any Specific Dynamics, I Will Never Make One Mistake.

Played Percussively, The Piano Is A Bore. If I Go To A Concert And Someone Plays Like That I Have Two Choices: Go Home Or Go To Sleep. The Goal Is To Make The Piano Sing, Sing, Sing.

False Notes [on The Piano] Are Human. Why Does Everything Have To Be Perfect? You Know, Perfection Itself Is Imperfection.

Everyone Goes To The Forest; Some Go For A Walk To Be Inspired, And Others Go To Cut Down The Trees.