I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. -Thoreau

…the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars. – Jack Kerouac, On the Road

What are you writing–and how does it go? And what are you thinking about–and how does it go? And what do you want to talk with me about?–and how do You go? And why aren’t your arms six hours long to reach to Boston? And what old canvases have you been painting over? And when will You come to me in a dream and make night sweeter than night?

-Mary Haskell to Khalil Gibran