After playing Chopin, I feel as if I had been weeping over sins that I had never committed, and mourning over tragedies that were not my own. Music always seems to me to produce that effect. It creates for one a past of which one has been ignorant, and fills one with a sense of sorrows that have been hidden from one’s tears
pasado irreal que de algún modo es cierto,
el recuerdo imposible de haber muerto
peleando, en una esquina del suburbio.