"Sibling relationships outlast marriages, survive the death of parents, resurface after quarrels that would sink any friendship. They flourish in a thousand incarnations of closeness and distance, warmth, loyalty and distrust."
“What an astonishing thing a book is. It's a flat object made from a tree with flexible parts on which are imprinted lots of funny dark squiggles. But one glance at it and you're inside the mind of another person, maybe somebody dead for thousands of years. Across the millennia, an author is speaking clearly and silently inside your head, directly to you. Writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding together people who never knew each other, citizens of distant epochs. Books break the shackles of time. A book is proof that humans are capable of working magic.”
To not be able to put anything in words is a different kind of pain. The blank sheet doesn't scare me. Perhaps, I get lost in all that whiteness. The so called intellectuals advise going back to school - perhaps, they should sit with me here and go through this daily schooling where the self analysis and criticism is in the curriculum.
To not be able to put anything in words is a different kind of pain. It isn't a writer's block or a creative block - it's fugazi for the no-doers. Neither I call myself a writer, yet I question myself. The dilemma around need and want is certainly inevitable - yet I try!
To not be able to put anything in words is a different kind of pain. I presume it comes with the realization of having, if not yet troubled then at least, a restless soul.
No wonder why the failure of a sincere activity is painful.