The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this:
A human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive.
To her...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, her very breath is cut off from her.
She must create, must pour out creation.
By some strange, unknown, inward urgency she is not really alive unless she is creating
Pearl Buck
A human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive.
To her...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, her very breath is cut off from her.
She must create, must pour out creation.
By some strange, unknown, inward urgency she is not really alive unless she is creating
Pearl Buck
