“His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly’s wings. At one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred. Later he became conscious of his damaged wings and of their construction and he learned to think and could not fly any more because the love of flight was gone and he could only remember when it had been effortless.”
— Hemingway, A Moveable Feast

Also, a note about feeling guilty about eating at 10:00 at night: It is better to eat four tomatoes and a small piece of meat now than to stumble into the kitchen at midnight and eat peanut butter.

I think that one of the reasons that I love art is that it makes the current moment beautiful, and I’m always rushing on to the next thing.