“I didn't want any flowers, I only wanted To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty. How free it… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
because wherever I sat—on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok—I would be sitting under… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
When you are insane, you are busy being insane-all the time ... when I was crazy, that was all I was. — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
It seemed silly to wash one day when I would only have to wash again the next. It made me tired just… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I didnt want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didnt know why I was going to cry, but… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Very depressed today. Unable to write a thing. Menacing gods. I feel outcast on a cold star, unable to feel anything but… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Tomorrow I will curse the dawn, but there will be other, earlier nights, and the dawns will be no longer hell laid… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I thought the most beautiful thing in the world must be shadow, the million moving shapes and cul-de-sacs of shadow. There was… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
A terrible depression yesterday. Visions of my life petering out into a kind of soft-brained stupor from lack of use. — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
You have lost all delight in life. Ahead is a large array of blind alleys. You are half-deliberately, half-desperately cutting off your… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Look at that ugly dead mask here and do not forget it. It is a chalk mask with dead dry poison behind… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“I stepped from the air-conditioned compartment onto the station platform, and the motherly breath of the suburbs enfolded me. It smelt of… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
... you looked around and saw everybody either married or busy and happy and thinking and being creative, and you felt scared,… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence. — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“They had to call and call And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls. --From the poem "Lady Lazarus", written 23-29… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
It is as if my life were magically run by two electric currents: joyous positive and despairing negative--which ever is running at… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I wondered why I couldn't go the whole way doing what I should any more. This made me sad and tired. Then… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“LADY LAZARUS I have done it again. One year in every ten I manage it-- A sort of walking miracle, my skin… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn't know what I was doing in New York.” — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I love life. But it is hard and I have so much, so very much to learn. — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
... These are my hands My knees. I may be skin and bone, Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman. ... --Lady Lazarus — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Sure, I’m dramatic and sloppily semi-cynical and semi-sentimental. But, in leisure years I could grow and choose my way. Now I am living on… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“People were made of nothing so much as dust, and I couldn't see that doctoring all that dust was a bit better than writing… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“I couldn't stand the idea of a woman having to have a single pure life and a man being able to have a double… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I saw the gooseflesh on my skin. I did not know what made it. I was not cold. Had a ghost passed over? No,… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“The city had faded my tan, though. I looked yellow as a Chinaman. Ordinarily, I would have been nervous about my dress and my… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
A million years of evolution, Eric said bitterly, and what are we? Animals. — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“I have stitched life into me like a rare organ --from "Three Women: A Poem for Three Voices", written 1962” — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
