What do you do when the well runs dry?
I go outside for walk and a breath of fresh air.
I listen and watch. I unplug and concentrate on something else, something like this. I travel – with my eyes wide open.
Experience is never limited and it is never complete; it is an immense sensibility, a kind of huge spider-web, of the finest silken threads, suspended in the chamber of consciousness and catching every air-borne particle in its tissue. It is the very atmosphere of the mind; and when the mind is imaginative–much more when it happens to be that of a person of genius–it takes to itself the faintest hints of life, it converts the very pulses of the air into revelations. … If experience consists of impressions, it may be said that impressions are experience, just as (have we not seen it?) they are the very air we breathe. Therefore, if I should certainly say to a novice, “Write from experience, and experience only,” I should feel that this was a rather tantalising monition if I were not careful immediately to add, “Try to be one of the people on whom nothing is lost!”