"What is a book? A mirrored pool of thoughts, ideals so often better left unsaid, so often better left with the soft outline of a dream."
For the last twenty years or so I have falsely given credit of this quote to Ian Fleming. I was wrong. The quote is from the Pulitzer Prize winning poet, Sylvia Plath.
I am currently working on a project that includes sound and vision and stories. And the quote at the heading of this entry has always resonated with me. For one reason or another, Ian Fleming became, in my mind, the originator and I have always given him the credit. I have done searches for it before to confirm just who said it, but all of these searches came back fruitless, until tonight/this morning when Google revealed to me that the quote appears, "in her personal journals, specifically in a letter written to a friend, Eddie Cohen, around September 1950. At the time, Plath was just about to start her studies at Smith College."
And now credit can be given to where credit is due.
Forgive me, Ms. Plath. Your ethereal yet, 'to the heart of the matter' prose continue to captivate me. I beg your forgiveness.
I will do better in the future.
Rest well.
Sincerely,
Evil Chicken
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