The woman who needs to create works of art is born with a kind of psychic tension in her which drives her unmercifully to find a way to balance, to make herself whole. Every human being has this need: in the artist it is mandatory. Unable to fulfill it, he goes mad. But when the artist is a woman she fulfills it at the expense of herself as a woman.

Though friendship is not quick to burn it is explosive stuff.

Do not deprive me of my age. I have earned it.

Read between the lines.Then meet me in the silence if you can.

For to be desperate is to discover strength. / We die of comfort and by conflict live.

I am not ready to die, / But I am learning to trust death / As I have trusted life.

... if one does not have wild dreams of achievement, there is no spur even to get the dishes washed. One must think like a hero to behave like a merely decent human being.