Life is an endless, truly endless struggle. There's no time when we're going to arrive at a plateau where the whole thing gets sorted. It's a struggle in the way every plant has to find it's own way to stand up straight. A lot of the time it's a failure. And yet it's not a failure if some enlightenment comes from it.

The world is an oyster but you don't crack it open on a mattress

Poor brain! How helplessly it dissolves when willing eyes meet and the nose warms to those old jungle scents.

A little man makes a mistake and they hang him by the thumbs; the big ones become ambassadors.

most of the time we settle for half and i like it better, even as i know how wrong he was and his death useless, i tremble for i confess that something peversley pure calls to me from his memory

I’m a writer, and everything I write is both a confession and a struggle to understand things about myself and this world in which I live. This is what everyone’s work should be-whether you dance or paint or sing. It is a confession, a baring of your soul, your faults, those things you simply cannot or will not understand or accept. You stumble forward, confused, and you share. If you’re lucky, you learn something.

Try to keep the rebel artist alive in you, no matter how attractive or exhausting the temptation.