“To write! It means the lengthy dreaming
before the spotless sheet; the unconscious scribbling, and the idle play of the
pen as it circles round and round a blot, and nibbles and scratches at the
inaccurate word, till it is bristling with tiny darts, ornamented with feelers
and legs, and finally, losing its legible word-from, becomes transformed into a
grotesque insect, and as rapidly converted into a fairy butterfly.

To write! It means the rapt, hypnotized
gaze, caught by the reflected window in the silver inkstand. It means the
burning of divine fever on cheek and brow, while a delightful death chills the
hand that chases words upon the paper. It means oblivion of time, the idle
nestling in the corner of the couch while yielding free reign to a very riot of
invention. It means emerging from the debauch all tired and stupefied, but
already richly rewarded, and the bearer of great wealth to be poured slowly out
upon the virgin page in the circlet of light sheltering under the lamp!

Oh, to write! To pour out furiously all the
sincerity within one on the tempting page, swiftly, quickly, till the hand
struggles, stumbles, is exhausted by the impatient god that rides it so hard!
And then, next morning, instead of finding a golden branch burst into bloom in
one flaming hour, to gather only a withered briar—an imperfect blossom!”

Sidonie
Gabrielle Claudine - Collette 

la vagabonde