We ourselves know something least of all. There is even a Schubert Hall in Vienna. Because this composer, like few others, while halting time so that he might briefly hold his breath, ran out of space, that is to say everything that lies round and about things. And the things themselves. And here again so much lies strewn about.
Every path has a right to be trodden and the artist is the first to tread it .
Many proceed and there is no path at all. They carry on nevertheless and fall on our behalf, and not even on a field of honour. The door is closed . The groundplan is there but without ground the plan is always torn.