I take no pleasure at all in saying I can now go back to reading without as much guilt.
One Sunday afternoon in the summer of 1955, when I was fifteen years old, I was mooning around our back garden in the suburbs of Cape Town, wondering what to do, boredom being the main problem of existence in those days, when from the house next door I heard music. As long as the music lasted, I was frozen, I dared not breathe. I was being spoken to by the music as music had never spoken to me before.
What I was listening to was a recording of Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier, played on the harpsichord [...]
-- J.M. Coetzee, "What is a Classic? A Lecture"