When a poet settled down to write a poem, could he foresee the lines he would write? Did his head constantly spin with riddles and rhymes and was his only job to put them down? What if he couldn’t get them to make sense, and no one, not even the person he cared for most, could have pleasure in reading it? What would he do? – Alysha Speer, Sharden
There is no commerce without community. And there is no community without commerce – Michele Jennae
I had a dream that I could please everyone. Well that will always be a dream, because I find that near to impossible to do (Starley Ard, Dreaming is for lovers)
History is the hidden map of who, where and how we are today (Elena Lappin, What Language Do I Dream In?)
A diamond is a chunk of coal that made good under pressure (Anonymous)
The miserable man was a man of that confined stolidity of mind that he could not discuss my prospects without having me before him (Charles Dickens, Great Expectations)
One question that often comes up is why, in this age of blogs and tweets and instant digital communication of all kinds, it still takes so long to publish a book (Erik Larson)
The noise around us determines how we speak. And how we listen. Just as a conversation suffers in a war zone, art suffers in a culture built on noise. So does our enjoyment of it (Michael Gungor, The Crowd, the Critic, and the Muse: A Book for Creators)
I wanted to sing when I was little. That’s what I liked doing. It didn’t occur to me that you became famous or anything like that (Linda Ronstadt)
The sea was as dark as dreams and as deep as sleep (Orhan Pamuk)