I haven’t mentioned this yet, but I love words! I love the mechanics of how the language fits together, (even though my grammar is often abysmal). I love how you can get such a sense of place from such an artificial construct.
He had the face of a medieval poisoner and the soul of an injured rabbit.
Isn’t that just lovely! *rubs hands in glee*
Then to see an idea, an outlook on the world, to be encapsulated in a brief turn of phrase by Emily Bronte:
No coward soul is mine
No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere:
I see heaven’s glories shine,
And faith shines equal, arming me from fear.
This is why, also, I find it difficult to pick up a pencil and write myself. I have such wonderful examples stored in my head. What that I write could ever compare? Ah well, I have to keep in mind that I’m not to be the best, just the best that I can.