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Writing, real writing, should leave a small sweet bruise somewhere on the writer . . . and on the reader.

Clarissa Pinkola Estes

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Clarissa Pinkola Estes
Age: 79
Born: 1945
Born: January 27
Poet
Psychologist
Writer
Indiana
United States
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
Reader
Sweet
Writer
Leave
Small
Real
Bruise
Writing
Bruises
Somewhere

More quotes by Clarissa Pinkola Estes

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For myself, solitude is rather like a folded-up forest that I carry with me everywhere and unfurl around myself when I have need.
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
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Anything you do from the soulful self will help lighten the burdens of the world. Anything. You have no idea what the smallest word, the tiniest generosity, can cause to be set in motion...Mend the part of the world that is within your reach.
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
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Freud's translator accidentally omitted 'fashion' in the psychoanalytic list of primary instinctual drives along with the drive to sexuality there is the drive to wear odd garments that may cut off circulation, occlude vision, make toes grow sideways, cause riots.
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
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All that you are seeking is also seeking you. If you lie still, sit still, it will find you. It has been waiting for you a long time.
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
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It's not the failure that holds us back but the reluctance to begin over again that causes us to stagnate.
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
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Tears are a river that takes you somewhere…Tears lift your boat off the rocks, off dry ground, carrying it downriver to someplace better.
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
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The quintessential feminine Self stands at the center of the psyche and it is wild, meaning natural and free, and utterly wise. It is not 'something' we must strive to create. This Self is already fully present, burning strong and waiting for us to come into its presence.
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
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If you have ever been called defiant, incorrigible, forward, cunning, insurgent, unruly, rebellious, you're on the right track.
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
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...stories that rise from deep suffering can provide the most potent remedies for past, present, and even future ills.
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
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A lover cannot be chosen a la smorgasbord. A lover has to be chosen from soul-craving. To choose just because something mouthwatering stands before ou will never satisfy the hunger of the soul-self. And that is what the intuition is for it is the direct messenger of the soul.
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
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One of the most calming and powerful actions you can do to intervene in a stormy world is to stand up and show your soul. Struggling souls catch light from other souls who are fully lit and willing to show it.
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
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So, let us push on now, and remember ourselves back to the wild soul. Let us sing her flesh back onto our bones.
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
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The body remembers, the bones remember, the joints remember, even the little finger remembers. Memory is lodged in pictures and feelings in the cells themselves. Like a sponge filled with water, anywhere the flesh is pressed, wrung, even touched lightly, a memory may flow out in a stream.
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
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There will always be times when you feel discouraged. I too, have felt despair many times in my life, but I do not keep a chair for it I will not entertain it. It is not allowed to eat from my plate.
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
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The point of art is not simply to express ourselves, but to create an external, concrete form in which the soul of our lives can be evoked and contained.
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
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God forgives us. ... Who am I not to forgive?
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
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Be proud of your scars. They have everything to do with your strength, and what you've endured. They're a treasure map to the deep self.
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
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Like all other lonely or hungry things, ego loves the light. It sees light, and the possibility of being close to the soul, and it creeps up to it and steals one of its essential camouflages. In a hunger for soul, our own ego-self steals the pelt
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
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A runner is real when she takes the first step.
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
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Wolves never look more funny than when they have lost the scent and scrabble to find it again: they hop in the air they run in circles, they plow up the ground with their noses . . . .
Clarissa Pinkola Estes