Music was of the same category as thought, both vibrated in the same movement and kind. Of the same quality as a thought so intimate that when heard, it revealed itself. As a thought so intimate that when she heard someone repeat the slightest nuances of its sounds, Joana was surprised at how she had been invaded and scattered. She didn’t feel its harmony any more when it became popular—then it was no longer hers. Or even when she heard the piece several times, which destroyed the similarity: because her thoughts never repeated themselves, while music could be renewed exactly the same as
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