"'The main thing is to write
for the joy of it. Cultivate a work-lust
that imagines its haven like your hands at night
dreaming the sun in the sunspot of a breast.
You are fasted now, light-headed, dangerous.
Take off from here. And don't be so earnest,
so ready for the sackcloth and the ashes.
Let go, let fly, forget.
You've listened long enough. Now strike your note.' "
–– Seamus Heaney (1939-2013) Irish poet
*Source: "Station Island," Part XII, in Opened Ground, p. 244-245