I found some Wednesday morning inspiration on FFFFOUND!.com:
I stumbled upon a very good book last night. Ernest Hemingway’s The Snows of Kilimanjaro and Other Stories. There was a particular passage that I feel in love with:
“He had destroyed his talent himself. Why should he blame this woman because she kept him well? He had destroyed his talent by not using it, by betrayals of himself and what he believed in, by drinking so much that he blunted the edge of his perceptions, by laziness, by sloth, and by snobbery, by pride and by prejudice, by hook and by crook. What was this? A catalogue of old books? What was his talent anyway? It was a talent all right but instead of using it, he had traded on it. It was never what he had done, but always what he could do. And he had chosen to make his living with something else instead of a pen or a pencil.”
It made me think about how I sabotage myself. How could I possibly know that reading Hemingway would inspire me to finish what I start. Breaks over — back to work.