My health is making stories, poems, novels, of experience: that is why, or, rather, that is why it is good, that I have suffered and been to hell, although not to all the hells. I cannot live for life itself: but for the words which stay the flux. My life, I feel, will not be lived until there are books and stories which relive it perpetually in time… The mind makes and makes, spinning its web.
~Sylvia Plath