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  • #1
    Haruki Murakami
    “She waited for the train to pass. Then she said, "I sometimes think that people’s hearts are like deep wells. Nobody knows what’s at the bottom. All you can do is imagine by what comes floating to the surface every once in a while.”
    Haruki Murakami, Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman


  • #2
    Virginia Woolf
    “The light struck upon the trees in the garden, making one leaf transparent and then another. One bird chirped high up; there was a pause; another chirped lower down. The sun sharpended the walls of the house, and rested like the tip of a fan upon a white blind and made a fingerprint of a shadow under the leaf by the bedroom window. The blind stirred slightly, but all within was dim and unsubstantial. The birds sang their blank melody outside. ”
    Virginia Woolf


  • #3
    Sylvia Plath
    “I do not love; I do not love anybody except myself. That is a rather shocking thing to admit. I have none of the selfless love of my mother. I have none of the plodding, practical love. . . . . I am, to be blunt and concise, in love only with myself, my puny being with its small inadequate breasts and meager, thin talents. I am capable of affection for those who reflect my own world.”
    Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath


  • #4
    Anaïs Nin
    “She lacks confidence, she craves admiration insatiably. She lives on the reflections of herself in the eyes of others. She does not dare to be herself.”
    Anaïs Nin


  • #5
    C.G. Jung
    “As a child I felt myself to be alone, and I am still, because I know things and must hint at things which others apparently know nothing of, and for the most part do not want to know.”
    C.G. Jung, Memories, Dreams, Reflections


  • #6
    “Live. And Live Well.

    BREATHE. Breathe in and Breathe deeply.

    Be PRESENT. Do
    not be past. Do not be future. Be now.

    On a crystal clear, breezy 70 degree day,
    roll down the windows and

    FEEL the wind against your skin. Feel the warmth of
    the sun.

    If you run, then allow those first few breaths on a cool Autumn day to

    FREEZE your lungs and do not just be alarmed, be ALIVE.

    Get knee-deep in a novel
    and LOSE track of time.

    If you bike, pedal HARDER and if you crash then crash
    well.

    Feel the SATISFACTION of a job well done-a paper well-written, a project
    thoroughly completed, a play well-performed.

    If you must wipe the snot from your
    3-year old's nose, don't be disgusted if the Kleenex didn't catch it all

    because soon he'll be wiping his own.

    If you've recently experienced loss, then
    GRIEVE. And Grieve well.

    At the table with friends and family, LAUGH.

    If you're
    eating and laughing at the same time, then might as well laugh until you puke.

    And if you eat, then SMELL.

    The aromas are not impediments to your day. Steak on
    the grill, coffee beans freshly ground, cookies in the oven.

    And TASTE.

    Taste every ounce of flavor.

    Taste every ounce of friendship.

    Taste every ounce of Life.

    Because-it-is-most-definitely-a-Gift.”
    Kyle Lake


  • #7
    Anaïs Nin
    “Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.”
    Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934


  • #8
    E.B. White
    “Why did you do all this for me?' he asked. 'I don't deserve it. I've never done anything for you.' 'You have been my friend,' replied Charlotte. 'That in itself is a tremendous thing.”
    E.B. White, Charlotte's Web


  • #9
    Sylvia Plath
    “I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
    Whatever I see I swallow immediately
    Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
    I am not cruel, only truthful-
    The eye of the little god, four cornered.
    Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
    It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
    I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
    Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
    Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
    Searching my reaches for what she really is.
    Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
    I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
    She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
    I am important to her. She comes and goes.
    Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
    In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
    Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.”
    Sylvia Plath, The Collected Poems


  • #10
    Sylvia Plath
    “Mad Girl's Love Song

    I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
    I lift my lids and all is born again.
    (I think I made you up inside my head.)

    The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
    And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
    I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

    I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
    And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
    (I think I made you up inside my head.)

    God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
    Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
    I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

    I fancied you'd return the way you said,
    But I grow old and I forget your name.
    (I think I made you up inside my head.)

    I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
    At least when spring comes they roar back again.
    I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
    (I think I made you up inside my head.)”
    Sylvia Plath


  • #11
    Jean-Paul Sartre
    “Ha! to forget. How childish! I feel you in my bones. Your silence screams in my ears. You may nail your mouth shut, you may cut out your tongue, can you keep yourself from existing? Will you stop your thoughts.”
    Jean-Paul Sartre, No Exit and Three Other Plays


  • #12
    Bob Dylan
    “Thinking of a series of dreams
    Where the time and the tempo fly
    And there's no exit in any direction
    'Cept the one that you can't see with your eyes”
    Bob Dylan
    tags: music


  • #13
    Sylvia Plath
    “And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.”
    Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath


  • #14
    Sylvia Plath
    “I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited.”
    Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath


  • #15
    Sylvia Plath
    “I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
    Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar


  • #16
    Sylvia Plath
    “Life has been some combination of fairy-tale coincidence and joie de vivre and shocks of beauty together with some hurtful self-questioning.”
    Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath


  • #17
    Sylvia Plath
    “I?
    I walk alone;
    The midnight street
    Spins itself from under my feet;
    My eyes shut
    These dreaming houses all snuff out;
    Through a whim of mine
    Over gables the moon's celestial onion
    Hangs high.

    I
    Make houses shrink
    And trees diminish
    By going far; my look's leash
    Dangles the puppet-people
    Who, unaware how they dwindle,
    Laugh, kiss, get drunk,
    Nor guess that if I choose to blink
    They die.

    I
    When in good humour,
    Give grass its green
    Blazon sky blue, and endow the sun
    With gold;
    Yet, in my wintriest moods, I hold
    Absolute power
    To boycott color and forbid any flower
    To be.

    I
    Know you appear
    Vivid at my side,
    Denying you sprang out of my head,
    Claiming you feel
    Love fiery enough to prove flesh real,
    Though it's quite clear
    All your beauty, all your wit, is a gift, my dear,
    From me.

    "Soliloquy of the Solipsist", 1956”
    Sylvia Plath, The Collected Poems


  • #18
    Sylvia Plath
    “How can you be so many women to so many strange people, oh you strange girl?”
    Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath


  • #19
    Sylvia Plath
    “And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.”
    Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath


  • #20
    Sylvia Plath
    “I Am Vertical

    But I would rather be horizontal.
    I am not a tree with my root in the soil
    Sucking up minerals and motherly love
    So that each March I may gleam into leaf,
    Nor am I the beauty of a garden bed
    Attracting my share of Ahs and spectacularly painted,
    Unknowing I must soon unpetal.
    Compared with me, a tree is immortal
    And a flower-head not tall, but more startling,
    And I want the one's longevity and the other's daring.

    Tonight, in the infinitesimal light of the stars,
    The trees and flowers have been strewing their cool odors.
    I walk among them, but none of them are noticing.
    Sometimes I think that when I am sleeping
    I must most perfectly resemble them--
    Thoughts gone dim.
    It is more natural to me, lying down.
    Then the sky and I are in open conversation,
    And I shall be useful when I lie down finally:
    The the trees may touch me for once, and the flowers have time for me.

    "I Am Vertical", 28 March 1961”
    Sylvia Plath, The Collected Poems


  • #21
    Sylvia Plath
    “I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted
    to lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.
    How free it is, you have no idea how free.”
    Sylvia Plath, Ariel


  • #22
    Sylvia Plath
    “I didn’t want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn’t know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I’d cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full.”
    Sylvia Plath


  • #23
    Haruki Murakami
    “But even so, every now and then I would feel a violent stab of loneliness. The very water I drink, the very air I breathe, would feel like long, sharp needles. The pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at four o'clock in the morning.”
    Haruki Murakami, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle


  • #24
    Virginia Woolf
    “Beauty, the world seemed to say. And as if to prove it (scientifically) wherever he looked at the houses, at the railings, at the antelopes stretching over the palings, beauty sprang instantly. To watch a leaf quivering in the rush of air was an exquisite joy. Up in the sky swallows swooping, swerving, flinging themselves in and out, round and round, yet always with perfect control as if elastics held them; and the flies rising and falling; and the sun spotting now this leaf, now that, in mockery, dazzling it with soft gold in pure good temper; and now again some chime (it might be a motor horn) tinkling divinely on the grass stalks—all of this, calm and reasonable as it was, made out of ordinary things as it was, was the truth now; beauty, that was the truth now. Beauty was everywhere.”
    Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway


  • #25
    Virginia Woolf
    “I don't believe in aging. I believe in forever altering one's aspect to the sun. ”
    Virginia Woolf
    tags: age


  • #26
    Virginia Woolf
    “Let us again pretend that life is a solid substance, shaped like a globe, which we turn about in our fingers. Let us pretend that we can make out a plain and logical story, so that when one matter is despatched—love for instance—we go on, in an orderly manner, to the next. ”
    Virginia Woolf, The Waves


  • #27
    Jodi Picoult
    “In the space between yes and no, there's a lifetime. It's the difference between the path you walk and the one you leave behind; it's the gap between who you thought you could be and who you really are; its the legroom for the lies you'll tell yourself in the future.”
    Jodi Picoult, Change of Heart


  • #28
    Haruki Murakami
    “It's like Tolstoy said. Happiness is an allegory, unhappiness a story.”
    Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore


  • #29
    Rainer Maria Rilke
    “Therefore, dear Sir, love your solitude and try to sing out with the pain it causes you. For those who are near you are far away... and this shows that the space around you is beginning to grow vast.... be happy about your growth, in which of course you can't take anyone with you, and be gentle with those who stay behind; be confident and calm in front of them and don't torment them with your doubts and don't frighten them with your faith or joy, which they wouldn't be able to comprehend. Seek out some simple and true feeling of what you have in common with them, which doesn't necessarily have to alter when you yourself change again and again; when you see them, love life in a form that is not your own and be indulgent toward those who are growing old, who are afraid of the aloneness that you trust.... and don't expect any understanding; but believe in a love that is being stored up for you like an inheritance, and have faith that in this love there is a strength and a blessing so large that you can travel as far as you wish without having to step outside it.”
    Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet


  • #30
    Sylvia Plath
    “Why do you make our case (which is hell enough, and we have enough to test us in these coming cruel years) so utterly and absolutely rigid? I can take the even harder horror of letting myself melt into feeling again, and knowing it must freeze again, if only I can believe it is making a minute part of time and space better than it would have been by stubbornly staying always apart when we have so little time to be near.”
    Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath




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