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
No comments:
Post a Comment