The progress of an artist is a continual self-sacrifice, a continual extinction of personality.
T. S. EliotWhat profession is more trying than that of author? After you finish a piece of work it only seems good to you for a few weeks; or if it seems good at all you are convinced that it is the last you will be able to write; and if it seems bad you wonder whether everything you have done isnโt poor stuff really; and it is one kind of agony while you are writing, and another kind when you arenโt.
T. S. EliotA woman drew her long black hair out tight, And fiddled whisper music on those strings, And bats with baby faces in the violet light Whistled, and beat their wings, And crawled head downward down a blackened wall.
T. S. Eliot