Of beauty you cannot have too much.
Frederic Chopin, Ballade No. 1 in G minor, Op. 23 (1835-36)
Take 1: Vladimir Horowitz, live, New York (Carnegie Hall)Vodpod videos no longer available.
Take 2: Krystian Zimerman, liveVodpod videos no longer available.
Take 3: Claudio ArrauVodpod videos no longer available.
Take 4: Alfred CortotVodpod videos no longer available.
Take 5: Sviatoslav Richter, live (Kiev)Vodpod videos no longer available.
[T]he things we feel in life are not experienced in the form of ideas, and so their translation into literature, an intellectual process, may give an account of them, explain them, analyse them, but cannot recreate them as music does, its sounds seeming to take on the inflections of our being, to reproduce that inner, extreme point of sensation which is that thing that causes us the specific ecstasy we feel from time to time and which, when we say ‘What a beautiful day! What beautiful sunshine!’, is not conveyed at all to our neighbour, in whom the same sun and the same weather set off quite different vibrations.
—Marcel Proust, The Prisoner (1925) (trans. Carol Clark )