Let’s allow ourselves space and error, hysteria and grief. Really, we must let the candle burn—pour gasoline on it if necessary. Creation is our gift and we are ill with it. It has sloshed about my bones and awakened me to stare at 5 a.m. walls.
—  Charles Bukowski, from a letter to John William Corrington featured in Screams From The Balcony: Selected Letters 1960 - 1970
I was incoherent with rage. Days have passed and now I am coherent with rage. I think in fact that you have become a very shady character, glitzy-shady. I will not cut you dead in the street but I will never again have anything to do with you.
—  Martha Gellhorn, from a letter to Bill Bufford featured in Selected Letters
It’s bad too to tell you how tired I am — so maddeningly tired — but maybe I have to be tired to wake up — I’ve had enough — I feel bored to distraction with people and things — I’m ready for my own company again and lots of it too.
—  Georgia O’Keeffe, from a letter to Alfred Stieglitz featured in My Faraway One: Selected Letters of Georgia O'Keeffe and Alfred Stieglitz: Volume One, 1915-1933