One writes out of one thing only--one's own experience. Everything depends on how relentlessly one forces from this experience the last drop, sweet or bitter, it can possibly give. This is the only real concern of the artist, to recreate out of the disorder of life that order which is art.
James BaldwinAbout author
- Author's profession: Educator, Writer
- Nationality: american
- Born: August 6, 1924
- Died: November 30, 1987
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Oh, what a love it was, utterly free, unique, like nothing else on earth! Their thoughts were like other people's songs.They loved each other, not driven by necessity, by the "blaze of passion" often falsely ascribed to love. They loved each other because everything around them willed it, the trees and the clouds and the sky over their heads and the earth under their feet. Perhaps their surrounding world, the strangers they met in the street, the wide expanses they saw on their walks, the...
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