“She made beauty all round her. When she trod on mud, the mud was beautiful; when she ran in the rain, the rain was silver. When she picked up a toad – she had the strangest and, I thought, unchanciest love for all manner of brutes – the toad became beautiful.”
― C.S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces
Life is made up of marble and mud.
Writing is like walking in a deserted street. Out of the dust in the street you make a mud pie.
—- John LeCarre