Pearl S. Buick

"The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature abnormally, inhumanly sensitive. To them . . . 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 a god, and failure is death. 

Add to this cruelty 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, their very breath is cut off . . . 

They must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency they are not really alive unless they are creating."