Tag Archive | madness

The writer’s madness

This madness possessing me, the one that stops me in my tracks, forcing me to write, so compulsive and obsessive.

The writer’s madness, striking at the most inopportune time, any time, any place, moments lost in time.

☆☆☆

Picture credits to the Dear One, he was trying to prove his point.

© elleonthego

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Motherhood quotes

  • I believe that always, or almost always, in all childhoods and in all the lives that follow them, the mother represents madness. Our mothers always remain the strangest, craziest people we’ve ever met.   M.Duras
  • A mother who is really a mother is never free.
    H. de Balzac
  • Being a full-time mother is one of the highest salaried jobs in my field, since the payment is pure love.  ~Mildred B. Vermont
  • The moment a child is born, the mother is also born.  She never existed before.  The woman existed, but the mother, never.  A mother is something absolutely new.  ~Rajneesh
  • The heart of a mother is a deep abyss at the bottom of which you will always find forgiveness.  ~Honoré de Balzac
  • When you are a mother, you are never really alone in your thoughts.  A mother always has to think twice, once for herself and once for her child.  ~Sophia LorenWomen and Beauty
  • A mother’s arms are made of tenderness and children sleep soundly in them.  ~Victor Hugo
  • A little girl, asked where her home was, replied, “where mother is.”  ~Keith L. Brooks
    What my little boy said when asked the same question!

• “A mother’s arms are more comforting than anyone else’s.” — Diana, Princess of Wales

• “If you bungle raising your children, I don’t think whatever else you do well matters very much.” — J.Kennedy-Onassis

A special person

It takes a special person to live with a writer.One who doesn’t mind waking up in the middle of the night to find his wife scribbling away like a woman possessed.I am forever writing, encouraged by this special man, so understanding.

The Dear One who keeps nudging me when he spots the signs of my madness, the one who makes sure I have time to liberate my mind, knowing and understanding that no peace will be found in that crazy head of mine until I have written down as much as I can.

Perhaps it helps that he’s an artist and an insomniac, he has the same sensitivity and therefore the patience to bear with me.We understand each other.

It doesn’t really surprise me that many writers end up lonely or reclusive.

Unless of course, they’re lucky enough to find a special person like I have.