The French viruses still haven't left me, and my head feels like it's about to explode. So don't count on me today to do some nice writing. Instead, I'm offering you this beautiful description of the creative mind, which I discovered last year.
"The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this:
A human creature born abnormally, inhumanly 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."
(by Pearl S. Buck, (1892-1973), recipient of the Pulitzer Prize in 1932 and of the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1938)
2 comments:
Wow ! You struck a chord. What a beautiful text.
I totally agree! Love Peal S Buck!
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