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" Because I came to see
That I should never have been a first-rate potter.
I didn't have it in me. It's strange, isn't it,
That a man should have a consuming passion
To do something for which he lacks the capacity?
Could a man be said to have a vocation
To be a second-rate potter? To be, at best,
A competent copier, possessed by the craving
To create, when one is wholly uncreative?
I don't think so. For I came to see,
That I had always known, at the secret moments,
That I didn't have it in me. There are occasions
When I am transported- a different person,
Transfigured in the vision of some marvellous creation,
And I feel what the man must have felt when he made it.
But nothing I made ever gave me that contentment-
That state of utter exhaustion and peace
Which comes in dying to give something life... "
― T.S. Eliot
