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The 22nd of March 1832 had come. In his armchair, a coverlet upon his knees, the green shade over his eyes, Goethe died. The dread and anxiety that often precede death by some time were over and done; he suffered no more, he had suffered himself out. And when he asked what day of the month it was, and… Read more
“A writer — and, I believe, generally all persons — must think that whatever happens to him or her is a resource. All things have been given to us for a purpose, and an artist must feel this more intensely. All that happens to us, including our humiliations, our misfortunes, our embarrassments, all is given to us as raw material, as clay, so that we may shape our art.”
Jorge Luis Borges