I found this for 50 cents at a Goodwill bin the second week I was in Portland. I needed some color in my life at the time(when don’t we?) because all I was seeing was grey(yes, it DOES rain a lot in Portland, on average 144 days out of the year with a whopping 45% chance of sunshine). The cover was bright and cheery and begging me to bring it home and turns out the words were too:
Succulent Wild Woman by Sark (okay, testosterone ridden individuals, maybe this one’s not for you… or, perhaps, it is).
“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.” -Pearl S Buck-