Was reading Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke, which is just a collection of letters he wrote to an aspiring writer. Today remembered something he wrote in the first letter.

It goes along the lines of this:

Ask yourself this: MUST I write poetry? What would the alternative be if you could not write? Could you live on without putting pen to paper? Is the alternative so bleak and miserable that you'd rather die than give up writing?

My answer is yes. My answer is that if I can't create, if I cannot find a way to make poetry, make art, make love and war, I would rather die. No, I could not possibly live otherwise. This is my life and my true love.