And if out of this turning-within, out of this immersion in your own world, poems come, then you will not think of asking anyone whether they are good or not. Try to raise up the sunken feelings of this enormous past your personality will grow stronger, your solitude will expand and become a place where you can live in the twilight, where the noise of other people passes by, far in the distance. And even if you found yourself in some prison, whose walls let in none of the world’s sounds – wouldn’t you still have your childhood, that jewel beyond all price, that treasure house of memories? Turn your attentions to it. If your everyday life seems poor, don’t blame it blame yourself admit to yourself that you are not enough of a poet to call forth its riches because for the creator there is not poverty and no poor, indifferent place.

Describe your sorrows and desires, the thoughts that pass through your mind and your belief in some kind of beauty - describe all these with heartfelt, silent, humble sincerity and, when you express yourself, use the Things around you, the images from your dreams, and the objects that you remember. Then, as if no one had ever tried before, try to say what you see and feel and love and lose.

And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple “I must,” then build your life in accordance with this necessity your whole life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse.

This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. Find out the reason that commands you to write see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write.

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