"Blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune, 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

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