The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure that it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.
[Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms]

“At times of unhappiness, when my uselessness has become brutally apparent to me, and all musical language seems to be reduced to the result of patient experiment without anything behind the notes justifying all the effort, what then can one do but seek one’s true, forgotten face, somewhere in the forest, in the mountains, on the beach, in the midst of the birds? … The birds are the real artists. They are the true originators of my pieces.”