I think the meaning of the universe is bound up with the egg. . . . I am fed up with the meaning of the universe. Everything starts in the egg and ends in death. I think it's called 'the heartbreak at the heart of things. ' But then perhaps our very mortality is an egg and at the moment of death our souls will emerge like damp chicks.
How good are the best musical imaginations? Can a trained musician, swiftly reading a score, tell just how that voicing of dissonant oboes and flutes over the massed strings will sound?