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The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

Book by Sylvia Plath · 17 quotes · Knows, Writing, People

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The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath Quotes

“Life was not to be sitting in hot amorphic leisure in my backyard idly writing or not writing, as the spirit moved me. It was, instead, running madly, in a crowded schedule, in a squirrel cage of busy people. Working, living, dancing, dreaming, talking, kissing- singing, laughing, learning.”

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Book:The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
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“The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.”

LifeInspirationalWritingSelfBeautifulArtistFearEnemyCreativityCreativeDoubtWrittenWorstSelf ConfidencePersistenceGutsBe CreativeCreative WritingWriting AdviceCreative PeopleGood WritersWriters And WritingWorst EnemySelf-doubtCreative ArtWriting By WritersGreat WritingImprovisingOutgoingCreative ArtistsCreative IdeasCreativenessArt And CreativityIdeas And CreativityStory WritingWriting StoriesInspire CreativityConfidence BoostingCreativity And WritingArtists And CreativityBoost Your ConfidenceFamous WritersStory WritersCreative WritersWriting From Famous AuthorsArtists And WritersWriting ShortShort WritingOvercoming Doubt
Book:The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
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“Sure, I’m dramatic and sloppily semi-cynical and semi-sentimental. But, in leisure years I could grow and choose my way. Now I am living on the edge. We all are on the brink, and it takes a lot of nerve, a lot of energy, to teeter on the edge, looking over, looking down into the windy blackness and not being quite able to make out, through the yellow, stinking mist, just what lies below in the slime, in the oozing, vomit-streaked slime; and so I could go on, my thoughts, writing much, trying to find the core, the meaning for myself.”

WayWritingTryingYearsAbleLyingEnergyGrowsGoes OnEdgesCoreMy WayDramaticNervesYellowCynicalLeisureSentimentalMy ThoughtsMistLiving OnBlacknessMake OutLooking DownWindySlimeLiving On The Edge
Book:The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
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“I cannot life for life itself: but for the words which stay the flux. My life, I feel, will not be lived until there are books and stories which relive it perpetually in time. I forget too easily how it was, and shrink to the horror of the here and now, with no past and no future. Writing breaks open the vaults of the dead and the skies behind which the prophesying angels hide. The mind makes and makes, spinning its web.”

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Book:The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
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