The Last Thing We Want Is To

Of Any Activity You Do, Ask Yourself: If I Were The Last Person On Earth, Would I Still Do It?

Tomorrow Morning The Critic Will Be Gone, But The Writer Will Still Be There Facing The Blank Page. Nothing Matters But That He Keep Working.

For What Can Be More Noble Than To Slay Oneself? Not Literally. Not With A Blade In The Guts. But To Extinguish The Selfish Self Within, That Part Which Looks Only To Its Own Preservation, To Save Its Own Skin. That, I Saw, Was The Victory You Spartans Had Gained Over Yourselves. That Was The Glue. It Was What You Had Learned And It Made Me Stay, To Learn It Too.

Our Job In This Lifetime Is Not To Shape Ourselves Into Some Ideal We Imagine We Ought To Be, But To Find Out Who We Already Are And Become It. If We Were Born To Paint, It’s Our Job To Become A Painter. If We Were Born To Raise And Nurture Children, It’s Our Job To Become A Mother. If We Were Born To Overthrow The Order Of Ignorance And Injustice Of The World, It’s Our Job To Realize It And Get Down To Business.

The Artist Cannot Look To Others To Validate His Efforts Or His Calling. If You Don't Believe Me, Ask Van Gogh, Who Produced Masterpiece After Masterpiece And Never Found A Buyer In His Whole Life.