Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
The floor seemed wonderfully solid. It was comforting to know I had fallen and could fall no farther.
It's a hell of a responsibility to be yourself. It's much easier to be somebody else or nobody at all.
What a man is is an arrow into the future, and what a woman is is the place the arrow shoots off from.
I felt myself melting into the shadows like the negative of a person I'd never seen before in my life.
This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary. The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.
Then I thought, "No, I broke it myself. I broke it on purpose to pay myself back for being such a heel.
There is an increasing market for mental hospital stuff. I am a fool if I don't relive it, recreate it.
Bright beads of red are rising through the ink, Hearts-blood bubbles smearing out into the black stream
Doreen had intuition. Everything she said was like a secret voice speaking straight out of my own bones.
If I was going to fall, I would hang on to my small comforts, at least, for as long as I possibly could.
I am still raw. I say I may be back. You know what lies are for. Even in your Zen heaven we shan't meet.
If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I'm neurotic as hell.
I hate handing over money to people for doing what I could just as easily do myself, it makes me nervous.
I like people too much or not at all. I've got to go down deep, to fall into people, to really know them.
When you give someone your whole heart and he doesn't want it, you cannot take it back. It's gone forever.
I may never be happy, but tonight I am content. At times like this I'd call myself a fool to ask for more.
There ought, I thought, to be a ritual for being born twice - patched, retreaded and approved for the road.
I need the reality of other people, work, to fulfill myself. Must never become a mere mother and housewife.
Doing all the little tricky things it takes to grow up, step by step, into an anxious and unsettling world.
Not easy to state the change you made. If I'm alive now, I was dead, Though, like a stone, unbothered by it.
Some pale, hueless flicker of sensitivity is in me. God, must I lose it in cooking scrambled eggs for a man.
It was my last act of love (first words to her mother in the hospital after her first major suicide attempt)
My mother said the cure for thinking too much about yourself was helping somebody who was worse off than you.
Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.
But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defenseless that I couldn't do it.
The body is amazingly stubborn when it comes to sacrificing itself to the annihilating directions of the mind.
I am terrified by this dark thing That sleeps in me; All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.
A fierce brief fusion which dreamers call real, and realists, an illusion; an insight like the flight of birds.
I'm sarcastic, skeptical, and sometimes callous because I'm still afraid, deep down, of letting myself be hurt.
That is salvation. To give of love inside. To keep love of life, no matter what, and give to others. Generously.
I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life.
I thought how strange it had never occurred to me before that I was only purely happy until I was nine years old.
I wish to cry. Yet, I laugh, and my lipstick leaves a red stain like a bloody crescent moon on top of the beer can
I may have made a straight A in physics, but I was panic-struck. Physics made me sick the whole time I learned it.
It was my first big chance, but here I was, sitting back and letting it run through my fingers like so much water.
It seems this is an age of clever critics who keep bewailing the fact that there are no works worthy of criticism.
If Doctor Nolan asked me for the matches, I would say that I'd thought they were made of candy and had eaten them.
I think the coming of spring, the stars overhead, the first snowfall and so on are gifts for a child, a young poet.
I think I am worthwhile just because I have optical nerves and can try to put down what they perceive. What a fool!
If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression Of something beautiful, but annihilating.
It seemed silly to wash one day when I would only have to wash again the next. It made me tired just to think of it.
I would say everything should be able to come into a poem, but I can't put toothbrushes into a poem, I really can't!
Let me not be weak and tell others how bleeding I am internally; how day by day it drips, and gathers, and congeals.
Clouds pass and disperse. Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables? Is it for such I agitate my heart?
I sank back in the gray, plush seat and closed my eyes. The air of the bell jar wadded round me and I couldn't stir.
I need some older, wiser being to cry to. I talk to God, but the sky is empty, and Orion walks by and doesn't speak.
I do not know who I am, where I am going - and I am the one who has to decide the answers to these hideous questions.
I'm never going to get married." "You're crazy." Buddy brightened. "You'll change your mind." "No. My mind's made up.
Maybe forgetfulness, like a kind snow, should numb and cover them. But they were a part of me. They were my landscape.
We must be moving, working, making dreams to run toward; the poverty of life without dreams is too horrible to imagine.