Quotes from Elizabeth Gilbert

Do you have the courage to bring forth the treasures that are hidden within you

inspiration comes from another world, you see, and it speaks a language entirely unlike my own, so sometimes we have trouble understanding each other. But inspiration is still sitting there right beside me, and it is trying.

Your creativity is way older than you are, way older than any of us. Your very body and your very being are perfectly designed to live in collaboration with inspiration, and inspiration is still trying to find a way to you - the same way it hunted down your ancestors.

Even as a child, Alma innately comprehended that there were two types of silent men in the world: one type was meek and deferential; the other type was Dick Yancey. His eyes were a pair of slowly circling sharks, and as he stared at Alma now, those eyes were clearly saying: Bring the rum.

The often surprising results of that hunt—that's what I call Big Magic.

To my mind, Celia Ray was perfection. She was New York City's very distillation—a glittering composite of sophistication and mystery. I would endure any filth or befouling, just to have access to her.

To be honest, I didn't understand what I was doing at college, aside from fulfilling a destiny whose purpose nobody had bothered explaining to me.

Inspiration is always trying to work with me. So I sit there and I work, too. That's the deal. I trust it; it trusts me.

You don't need to conduct autopsies on your disasters. You don't need to know what anything means.

Depression even confiscates my identity; but he always does that. Then Loneliness starts interrogating me, which I dread because it always goes on for hours. He's polite but relentless, and he always trips me up eventually. He asks if I have any reason to be happy that I know of. He asks why I am all by myself tonight, yet again.

A felicidade é consequência de um esforço pessoal. Você luta por ela, faz força para obtê-la, insiste nela, e algumas vezes viaja o mundo à sua procura.

It was like one of those dreams where you discover a previously unknown room in your house and you have that expansive feeling that your life has more possibility to it than you thought it did.

Drunk, pinwheel-eyed, briny-blooded, brainless, weightless—Celia and I spun through New York City that summer on currents of pure electricity. Instead of walking, we rocketed. There was no focus; there was just a constant search for the vivid . We missed nothing, but we also missed everything.

Even if you are eighty years old, or a lesbian, or a strident feminist, or a nun, or an eighty-year-old strident feminist lesbian nun who has never been married and never intends to get married, the politest possible answer is still: "Not yet.

that's what you have to do at the beginning; everybody imitates before they can innovate.

There is no old age like anxiety

Never learn to type, kiddo. And if you do learn to type never te anybody you can type, or they'll make you do it forever. Never learn shorthand, either. It'll be the death of you. They'll put a steno pad n a woan's hand and it'll ever come out.

I will always be safe from the random hurricanes of outcome as long as I never forget where I rightfully live.

Her thoughts were a cloud of contagion that did her no good.

The paradox that you need to comfortably inhabit, if you wish to live a contented creative life, goes something like this: "My creative expression must be the most important thing in the world to me (if I am to live artistically), and it also must not matter at all (if I am to live sanely).

You need to learn how to select your thoughts just the same way you select what clothes you're gonna wear every day. This is a power you can cultivate.

I choose to trust that inspiration is always nearby, the whole time I'm working, trying its damnedest to impart assistance. [...] Sometimes we have trouble understanding each other. But inspiration is still sitting there right beside me, and it is trying.

El mundo esta lleno de muerte y podredumbre, pero los sabios no sufren, porque conocen las urdidumbres del mundo

There were times when she looked up from her labors to ask her mother a question - looking over to the chair where Beatrix had always sat - and was startled by the nothingness to be found there. It was like looking at a spot on a wall where a clock had hung for years, and seeing only an empty space. She could not train herself not to look; the emptiness surprised her every time.