I’m having the kind of dreams I have when a book is trying to tell me who to be so I can write it… I get up early, wincing away from them, feeling both manic and depressed.
“…he couldn’t have explained, to anyone, least of all a man fifty years old, even his uncle, how to assuage the heart’s thirst with the dusty chronicle of the past when not fifteen hundred miles away in England men not much older than he was were daily writing with their lives his own time’s deathless footnote.”
William Faulkner | “Knight’s Gambit”