“If poetry springs from those precious moments when solitude is erased by the murmur of shared dreams, or from those furtive hours when thoughts melt into one another or bloom in the warmth and confidences exchanged, then my hands, like yours, are like flowers.”-Anäis Nin
I cannot find a reason for this; things float in vast clouds around my head, settle, invade all my kingdoms, spread alarm, confusion and pleasure, arouse, inflame, inspire, exalt and, above all things, cry loudly, piercingly. Ink, ink. Give us ink!
Ink, pen and paper seem the greatest necessities of my existence. I could go without food, without friends, without home or books, but without ink and paper, I should dieAnäis Nin, The Early Diary of Anäis Nin, Volume Two