An unfree mind is just like a windmill inside the bell jar!— Mehmet Murat Ildan
Proven Bell Jar quotations
A fighter never knows when it's the last bell. He doesn't want to face that.
If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I'm neurotic as hell.
because wherever I sat—on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok—I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.
To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is a bad dream.
There is nothing like puking with somebody to make you into old friends.
Let me live, love and say it well in good sentences.
I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery—air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, "This is what it is to be happy.
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 felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.
But I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure at all. How did I know that someday―at college, in Europe, somewhere, anywhere―the bell jar, with its stifling distortions, wouldn't descend again?
I once met an economist who believed that everything was fungible for money, so I suggested he enclose himself in a large bell-jar with as much money as he wanted and see how long he lasted.
My mother said the cure for thinking too much about yourself was helping somebody who was worse off than you.
My garden is the most beautiful thing in the world.
I thought the most beautiful thing in the world must be shadow.
Don't let the wicked city get you down.
There is something demoralizing about watching two people get more and more crazy about each other, especially when you are the only extra person in the room.
Someone once said that under the bell jar of compliance, the only thing that blooms is rage.
I was supposed to be having the time of my life.
I didn't know what I was doing in New York.
I buried my head under the darkness of the pillow and pretended it was night.
I couldn't see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.
The floor seemed wonderfully solid. It was comforting to know I had fallen and could fall no farther.
I wanted change and excitement and to shoot off in all directions myself, like the colored arrows from a Fourth of July rocket.
I wondered why I couldn't go the whole way doing what I should any more.
This made me sad and tired. Then I wondered why I couldn't go the whole way doing what I shouldn't, the way Doreen did, and this made me even sadder and more tired.
The trouble was, I had been inadequate all along, I simply hadn't thought about it.
But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defenseless that I couldn't do it.
I dare you to read a book this weekend! War and Peace? To Kill a Mocking Bird? Catcher in the Rye? The Heart is a Lonely Hunter? For Whom the Bell Tolls? As i lay Dying? Giovanni's Room? The Bell Jar? These books changed my life. #artforfreedom #rebelheart
Is to throw together events from my own life, fictionalizing to add color—it’s a pot boiler really, but I think it will show how isolated a person feels when he is suffering a breakdown . . . I’ve tried to picture my world and the people in it as seen through the distorting lens of a bell jar.
I am made, crudely, for success.
I thought how strange it had never occurred to me before that I was only purely happy until I was nine years old.
When they asked me what I wanted to be I said I didn't know.
There ought, I thought, to be a ritual for being born twice - patched, retreaded and approved for the road.
Maybe forgetfulness, like a kind snow, should numb and cover them.
But they were a part of me. They were my landscape.
I collected men with interesting names.
I already knew a Socrates. He was tall and ugly and intellectual and the son of some big Greek movie producer in Hollywood, but also a Catholic, which ruined it for both of us.
I couldn’t see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.
The silence drew off, baring the pebbles and shells and all the tatty wreckage of my life.