The simplest and most intellectual of the arts is the black line on a white background; no other medium can better recall the diorama of memory than simple line drawing.
— Eric Sloane
Tell your own story, and you will be interesting.
— Louise Bourgeois
Children surviving childhood is my obsessive theme and my life’s concern.
— Maurice Sendak
There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.
— Maya Angelou, writer, poet, memoirist, and civil rights activist
If you’re going to have a story, have a big story, or none at all.
— Joseph Campbell, mythologist, writer and lecturer

Emily Dickinson (1830–86).  Complete Poems.  1924.

Part Two: Nature

THE WIND tapped like a tired man,
And like a host, “Come in,”
I boldly answered; entered then
My residence within  

A rapid, footless guest,        
To offer whom a chair
Were as impossible as hand
A sofa to the air.

No bone had he to bind him,
His speech was like the push        
Of numerous humming-birds at once

His countenance a billow,
His fingers, if he pass,
Let go a music, as of tunes
Blown tremulous in glass.        

He visited, still flitting;
Then, like a timid man,
Again he tapped—’t was flurriedly—

And I became alone.

When you feel anxiety, you can’t do anything because you don’t know where it is. This is where drawings come in. Drawings aren’t illustrations; they’re a transformation. To make an illustration, you have a subject that you’re drawing. The subject comes first, and then the illustration. At school, they tell you to draw, say, a doll. So you draw the doll. And if the doll is broken, you try to represent a doll that is broken. But in conversion, it’s the opposite: you feel deep down that you yourself are a broken doll. This puts you in a state of tremendous anxiety. If you’re missing a leg and you have to go get milk, you’re anxious. So conversion is the opposite, because you first feel that something is wrong with your leg. You don’t see the doll; you don’t see the leg. You just know that you’re afraid to cross the street. Then the time comes to cross the street—NOW—and you wonder why you’re afraid. So the drawing becomes the realization of an existing fear.
— Lousie Bourgeois
Modern storytellers are the descendants of an immense and ancient community of holy people, troubadours, bards, griots, cantadoras, cantors, traveling poets, bums, hags and crazy people.
— Clarissa Pinkola Estés
Thus the dream house must possess every virtue. How­ ever spacious, it must also be a cottage, a dove-cote, a nest, a chrysalis. Intimacy needs the heart of a nest. Erasmus, his biographer tells us, was long “in finding a nook in his fine house in which he could put his little body with safety. He ended by confining himself to one room until he could breathe the parched air that was necessary to him.
— Gaston Bachelard