When Good People In Any Country Cease

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, Must Pour Out Creation. By Some Strange, Unknown, Inward Urgency He Is Not Really Alive Unless He Is Creating.

Self-expression Must Pass Into Communication For Its Fulfillment.

There Are Many Ways Of Breaking A Heart. Stories Were Full Of Hearts Broken By Love, But What Really Broke A Heart Was Taking Away Its Dream -- Whatever That Dream Might Be.

Nature Knows No Sex Limitations And Does Not Bestow Brains Upon Men Alone. Daughters Inherit Gifts Exactly As Often And As Much As Sons.

No One Really Understood Music Unless He Was A Scientist, Her Father Had Declared, And Not Just A Scientist, Either, Oh, No, Only The Real Ones, The Theoreticians, Whose Language Was Mathematics. She Had Not Understood Mathematics Until He Had Explained To Her That It Was The Symbolic Language Of Relationships. "and Relationships," He Had Told Her, "contained The Essential Meaning Of Life."