The hero wanders, the hero suffers, the hero returns. You are that hero.

The counterfeit innovator is wildly self-confident. The real one is scared to death.

It’s better to be in the arena, getting stomped by the bull, than to be up in the stands or out in the parking lot.

Resistance really takes the shape, for me, in voices in my head telling me why I can't do something or why I should put it off for another day, procrastinate for another day.

The artist and the mother are vehicles, not originators. They don't create the new life, they only bear it. This is why birth is such a humbling experience. The new mom weeps in awe at the little miracle in her arms. She knows it came out of her but not from her, through her but not of her.

We're wrong if we think we're the only ones struggling with Resistance. Everyone who has a body experiences Resistance.

F@*# self-doubt. I despise it. I hold it in contempt, along with the hell-spawned ooze-pit of Resistance from which it crawled. I will NEVER back off. I will NEVER give the work anything less than 100%. If I go down in flames, so be it. I'll be back.