"I sat back down and stared bleakly at the prescription.
“This is going to kill my creativity, won’t it? Without all my feelings, I won’t be able to paint like I used to.”
“That’s the cry of artists everywhere,” said Einstein, his expression hardening. “Will it affect certain things? Maybe, but you know what’ll really interfere with your ability to paint? Being too depressed to get out of bed. Waking up in jail after a night of drunken debauchery. Killing yourself. Those things will hurt your creativity"
“This is going to kill my creativity, won’t it? Without all my feelings, I won’t be able to paint like I used to.”
“That’s the cry of artists everywhere,” said Einstein, his expression hardening. “Will it affect certain things? Maybe, but you know what’ll really interfere with your ability to paint? Being too depressed to get out of bed. Waking up in jail after a night of drunken debauchery. Killing yourself. Those things will hurt your creativity"
The fiery heart, Richelle Mead