“The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanely sensitive. To him a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstacy, a friend is a lover, a lover is god and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create — so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency he is really not alive unless he is creating.
-Pearl S. Buck