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Book: Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams: Short Stories, Prose and Diary Excerpts
Quotes of Book: Johnny Panic and the Bible of
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  1. Sylvia Plath _ Johnny Panic and the Bible of

    So many people are shut up tight inside themselves like boxes, yet they would open up, unfolding quite wonderfully, if only you were interested in them."{}
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  2. Sylvia Plath _ Johnny Panic and the Bible of

    I sometimes think my vision of the sea is the clearest thing I own. I pick it up, exile that I am, like the purple 'lucky stones' I used to collect with a white ring all the way round, or the shell of a blue mussel with its rainbowy angel's fingernail interior; and in one wash of memory the colors deepen and gleam, the early world draws breath.
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  3. Sylvia Plath _ Johnny Panic and the Bible of

    I saw the gooseflesh on my skin. I did not know what made it. I was not cold. Had a ghost passed over? No, it was the poetry. A spark flew off Arnold and shook me, like a chill. I wanted to cry; I felt very odd. I had fallen into a new way of being happy.
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  4. Sylvia Plath _ Johnny Panic and the Bible of

    Bright beads of red are rising through the ink, Hearts-blood bubbles smearing out into the black stream
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  5. Sylvia Plath _ Johnny Panic and the Bible of

    The door of the novel, like the door of the poem, also shuts. But not so fast, nor with such manic, unanswerable finality.
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  6. Sylvia Plath _ Johnny Panic and the Bible of

    His lyrical whistle beckoned me to adventure and forgetting. But I didn't want to forget. Hugging my grudge, ugly and prickly, a sad sea urchin, I trudged off on my own, in the opposite direction toward the forbidding prison. As from a star I saw, coldly and soberly, the separateness of everything. I felt the wall of my skin; I am I. That stone is a stone. My beautiful fusion with the things of this world was over.The Tide ebbed, sucked back into itself. There I was, a reject, with the dried black seaweed whose hard beads I liked to pop, hollowed orange and grapefruit halves and a garbage of shells. All at once, old and lonely, I eyed these-- razor clams, fairy boats, weedy mussels, the oyster's pocked gray lace {there was never a pearl} and tiny white "ice cream cones." You could always tell where the best shells were-- at the rim of the last wave, marked by a mascara of tar. I picked up, frigidly, a stiff pink starfish. It lay at the heart of my palm, a joke dummy of my own hand. Sometimes I nursed starfish alive in jam jars of seawater and watched them grow back lost arms. On this day, this awful birthday of otherness, my rival, somebody else, I flung the starfish against a stone. Let it perish."
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  7. Sylvia Plath _ Johnny Panic and the Bible of

    Wear your heart on your skin in this life.
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