Families are great murderers of the creative impulse, particularly husbands.
Even if I knew for certain that I would never have anything published again, and would never make another cent from it, I would still keep on writing.
Sometimes I think of life as a process where everybody is discouraging and taking everybody else down a peg or two.
All children have creative power.
The tragedy of bold, forthright, industrious people is that they act so continuously without much thinking, that it becomes dry and empty.
I learned that you should feel when writing, not like Lord Byron on a mountain top, but like child stringing beads in kindergarten, – happy, absorbed and quietly putting one bead on after another.
It is so conceited and timid to be ashamed of one’s mistakes. Of course they are mistakes. Go on to the next.
This is what I learned: that everybody is talented, original and has something important to say.