If we split practice from the real thing, neither one of them will be very real.

There are only people doing their imperfect best at doing their imperfect jobs

Every attempt we make is imperfect; yet each one of those imperfect attempts is an occasion for a delight unlike anything else on earth.

If we split practice from the real thing, neither one of them will be very real.

Creative living, or the life of a creator, seems like a leap into the unknown only because "normal life" is rigid and traumatized.

Brahms once remarked that the mark of an artist is how much he throws away. Nature, the great creator, is always throwing things away. A frog lays several million eggs at a sitting. Only a few dozen of these become tadpoles, and only a few of those become frogs. We can let imagination and practice be as profligate as nature.

Play, intrinsically rewarding, doesn't cost anything; as soon as you put a price on it, it becomes, to some extent, not play.