What I Am

The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally inhumanly sensitive.

To him/her/them…  

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/her/their very breath is cut off from him/her/them. He/She/They must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency he/she/they is not really alive unless he/she/they is creating.

-Pearl Buck-


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