Quotes from Steven Pressfield

My friend Tony Keppelman snapped me out of it by asking if I was gonna quit. Hell, no! Then be happy. You're where you wanted to be, aren't you? So you're taking a few blows. That's the price for being in the arena and not on the sidelines. Stop complaining and be grateful.

From what I've seen, the operations of war are constituted less of glorious attacks and valiant defences and more of an ongoing succession of mundane and often excruciating balls-ups.

If we show our poem to our friend and our friend says, It's wonderful, I love it, that's not real-world feedback, that's our friend being nice to us. Nothing is as empowering as real- world validation, even if it's for failure.

In myth and legend, when the hero commits to an intention by taking bold action, he enacts a Cosmic Overthrow. He "crosses the threshold.

They peck a man's asshole out

the hero moves from the Ordinary World to the Extraordinary World. She has gone from the Known to the Unknown. Suddenly our hero sees herself differently. She can't help it.

If we were the last person on earth, would we still show up at the studio, the rehearsal hall, the laboratory?

It is not an idle or airy-fairy proposition to declare that the universe responds to the hero or heroine who takes action and commits. It responds positively. It comes to the hero's aid.

Resistance hates two qualities above all others: concentration and depth. Why? Because when we work with focus and we work deep, we succeed

Let me say this about courage under fire. In my experience, valour in action counts for far less than simply performing one's commonplace task without cocking it up. This is by no means as simple as it sounds.

The Sphere of Potentiality—i.e., the dimension above the Material Plane—recognizes the alteration in our hero. She has changed. She is not the same person she was, even ten seconds earlier. She has, by an act of will and love and daring, stepped out of the role of the passive and the self-paralyzed and into the role of the active protagonist, the hero. She has in fact become a hero, quaking knees notwithstanding. The universe comes to the hero's aid.

The professional endures adversity. He lets the birdshit splash down on his slicker, remembering that it comes clean with a heavy-duty hosing. He himself, his creative center, cannot be buried, even beneath a mountain of guano. His core is bulletproof. Nothing can touch it unless he lets it.

Often, "reality" means nothing more than conventional reality. And conventional reality is almost always wrong. Ask Dick Rowe of Decca Records, who turned down the Beatles.

I've read a dozen different versions of Stanislavski's famous Three Questions, i.e. the queries an actor must ask him- or herself before playing any scene. Here's my version: Who am I? Why am I here? What do I want? The second two are pretty easy. It's the first that's the killer.

Procrastination is the most common manifestation of Resistance because it's the easiest to rationalize. We don't tell ourselves, I'm never going to write my symphony. Instead we say, I am going to write my symphony; I'm just going to start tomorrow.

The professional respects his craft. He does not consider himself superior to it. He recognizes the contributions of those who have gone before him. He apprentices himself to them. The professional dedicates himself to mastering technique not because he believes technique is a substitute for inspiration but because he wants to be in possession of the full arsenal of skills when inspiration does come.

Strife is life's oldest and most holy fundament.

The professional cannot allow the actions of others to define his reality. Tomorrow morning the critic will be gone, but the writer will still be there facing the blank page. Nothing matters but that he keep working. Short of a family crisis or the outbreak of World War III, the professional shows up, ready to serve the gods.

You have never tasted freedom, friend," Dienekes spoke, "or you would know it is purchased not with gold, but steel." Pressfield, Steven (2007-01-30). Gates of Fire (p. 47). Random House Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

But another lesson Watashi taught has stuck with me to this day. Watashi always pronounced the word "feel" as if it had quotation marks around it. In other words, he scorned the word absolutely. In Watashi's lexicon, feel and feelings had no meaning in war. They had no meaning in competition. They had no meaning in life.

Never forget: This very moment, we can change our lives. There never was a moment, and never will be, when we are without the power to alter our destiny. This second, we can turn the tables on Resistance. This second, we can sit down and do our work.

Evolution has programmed us to feel rejection in our guts. This is how the tribe enforced obedience, by wielding the threat of expulsion. Fear of rejection isn't just psychological; it's biological. It's in our cells.

From the epiphanal moment at the end of her hero's journey, the artist's life is about the works she will produce. These taken in sum will comprise her body of work. They're her oeuvre. They're also her destiny. If she does it right, they will constitute upon completion a pretty fair expression of why she was put on Earth. They'll define who she is. They will be her gift for the people.

This is the other secret that real artists know and wannabe writers don't. When we sit down each day and do our work, power concentrates around us. The Muse takes note of our dedication. She approves. We have earned favor in her sight. When we sit down and work, we become like a magnetized rod that attracts iron filings. Ideas come. Insights accrete.