Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
Our only solace as writers is in the work itself, and perhaps also in a penchant for blissful ignorance that allows us to gamble, to risk, to keep going where others would tote up the odds and stop.
The keenest sorrow is to recognize ourselves as the sole cause of all our adversities.
Repentant tears wash out the stain of guilt.
Rarely do I attach guilt to something pleasant. Life's too short.
When the writers themselves are a bit out of control, and their lives are collapsing around them, they seem to rejoice in misery and celebrate the wrong sort of things.
We all feel the urge to condemn ourselves out of guilt, to blame others for our misfortunes and to fantasize about total disaster.
Guilt: the gift that keeps on giving.
I'm not happy unless I have a pen in my hand, it's really that simple.
There is no lighter burden, nor more agreeable, than a pen.
We have to go into the despair and go beyond it, by working and doing for somebody else, by using it for something else.