naturally, we are all caught in downmoods, it’s a matter of chemical imbalance and an existence which, at times, seems to forbid any real chance at happiness. — Charles Bukowski, from “red Mercedes,” You Get So Alone At Times That It Just Makes Sense. (Black Sparrow Press,1986) Advertisements
God, but life is loneliness, despite all the opiates, despite the shrill tinsel gaiety of “parties” with no purpose, despite the false grinning faces we all wear. 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… Continue reading Sylvia Plath
In the journal I do not just express myself more openly than I do to any person; I create myself. The journal is a vehicle for my sense of selfhood. It represents me as emotionally and spiritually independent. Therefore (alas) it does not simply record my actual, daily life but rather—in many cases—offers an alternative… Continue reading Susan Sontag
they thought I had guts they were wrong I was only frightened of more important things — Charles Bukowski, from “Wall Clock,” Open All Night: New Poems. (Black Sparrow Press, September 1, 2000)
When the best is gone, I know that other things are not of consequence. The heart wants what it wants, or else it does not care. — Emily Dickinson, Letters of Emily Dickinson: Volume I. (Forgotten Books, November 16, 2016) Originally published September 12th 2013.
Opt for privacy and solitude. That doesn’t make you antisocial or cause you to reject the rest of the world. But you need to breathe. And you need to be. — Albert Camus, Notebooks 1951-1959. (Ivan R. Dee; First Edition U.S. edition, April 2, 2008) Originally published 1989. Write
can our dreams ever blur the intransigent lines which draw the shape that shuts us in? — Sylvia Plath, from “Tale of a Tub,” The Collected Poems (HarperPerennial, 1992)