Well, rhythm is 90 percent of the interpretation.

When you can hear a violinist, that is better than you, then you learn from him, because if you play with somebody who is worse than you, then you go down.

Colour does not make so much difference. Look at the Bach Chaconne: There is not one dynamic mark in the whole Bach Chaconne. Colours do not make so much difference.

You have to do a lot of listening, you don't just learn out of yourself.

A specialist is someone who does everything else worse.

Every violinist has a different style, so it's important to be able to recognise their styles. You don't have to like everyone's style but you have to know these styles.

It would be easier to say, what was the difference in style from many years ago. Many years ago, the old violinists, they also had a good technique, they were not tonally as good.

This young man is an exceptionally gifted and talented violinist ... He is a first class talent.

The secret of staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly, and lie about your age.

...like a predator about to devour the target.

All war presupposes human weakness and seeks to exploit it.

Dude, I love playing drums, and I love being on stage, and I love recording. It's my life... it's been my life, all my life, and I don't think it could ever become boring for me.

Everywhere in a day there is light. Look around. Everywhere. Look at your smart phone. It has a flashlight, an LED flashlight. These are potential sources for high-speed data transmission.

If you're willing to restrict the flexibility of your approach, you can almost always do something better

An awful lot of successful technology companies ended up being in a slightly different market than they started out in.

I lay down the Position, That whatever a Conscience well directed allows us to do for the Advancement of Truth, an erroneous Conscience will warrant for advancing a suppos'd Truth.

I know I often get a job because of how I look. I hope that I keep the job because of how I act.

What joy have I in June's return? My feet are parched-my eyeballs burn, I scent no flowery gust; But faint the flagging zephyr springs, With dry Macadam on its wings, And turns me 'dust to dust.'