"The artist’s life nourishes itself on the particular, the concrete: that came to me last night as I despaired about writing poems on the concept of the seven deadly sins & told myself to get rid of the killing idea: this must be a great work of philosophy. Start with the mat-green fungus in the pine woods yesterday…daily, simply, and then it won’t lour in the distance, an untouchable object. Write about the cow, Mrs.Spauldings heavy eyelids, the smell of vanilla flavoring in a brown bottle. That’s where the magic mountains begin."
— Sylvia Plath