Once in a while I come across another writer's thoughts that just make me feel so connected to that individual even though they may be no longer with us. Sharing what we sort out about the human condition is one of our greatest gifts to each other...so, I'm passing it on.
The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanely sensitive. To him...
a touch is a blow,
a sound is a noise,
a misfortune is a tragedy,
a joy is an ecstasy,
a friend is a lover,
a lover is a god,
and failure is death.
Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create--so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency he is not really alive unless he is creating.
-Pearl S. Buck
Past Missteps
2 months ago
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