I first fell in love with classical music under the influence of reading Thomas Mann's unbelievably beautiful fiction. No one recreates the actual sensations of music better than Mann.

Bardolatry out of control, I know--but otherwise the list would be taken over completely by WS. I never tire of seeing a new Shakespeare production.

"Wouldn't you just die without Mahler?" is the famous line from "Educating Rita." And yes I would--so I gotta have it all--and with Lenny!

James Baldwin is one of the great treasures of American fiction, and a brave thinker. His is some of the most moving prose ever penned.

ometimes I'm a Figaro-man, sometimes a Cosi-man, and please don't take away my Mozart concertos and chamber music. But "Don Giovanni" really does have it all--the absolute epitome of Mozart's genius.

But Virgil struck me as the most beautiful of the ancient poets--a modern sensibility lurking beneath the Roman formulas.

The most frustrating book I've ever read: I knew there was something there but it wasn't til the second round that I even began to fathom the darkly penetrating truth of Faulkner's vision.

This is pretty extravagant, yes--but I'd never grow tired of it! In fact, you almost wish you were stranded on a desert island so you'd have time to mull over Bach.

I've a modest claim to being a Dylanologist, having been obsessed with his work since I discovered Dylan at 13. I know most of these by heart but need to have them around for sure.

One of my favorite ensembles playing these masterpieces by Bartok, top contenders for great 20th-century music on my list--what's not to like?

There's a lot of anti-Stravinsky buzz these days, but I can still recall the exact sense of goosebumps (or whtaever it's called in "The Tingler") on hearing "Rite" for the first time.

This is a shout-out to the theater bug that lives inside. At least for me, Ten's work has never dated: the poetry and passion of the early plays above all can move me like nothing else.

I remember discovering the Beatles as if they were Beethoven all over, spending a weekend locked up listening to nothing but. This is probably the quintessential late-Beatles work.