The one thing I was good at was winning scholarships and prizes, and that era was coming to an end. — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I am accused. I dream of massacres. I am a garden of black and red agonies. I drink them, Hating myself, hating… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
…'It always has to end, doesn't it? We always have to separate.' 'Yes,' I said. He was insistent, 'But it doesn't always… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Everything people did seemed so silly, because they only died in the end. — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
So you got rid of your astonishment that someone could write so much more dynamically than you. You stopped cherishing your aloneness… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I may never be happy, but tonight I am content. Nothing more than an empty house, the warm hazy weariness from a… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I opened the door and blinked out into the bright hall. I had the impression it wasn't night and it wasn't day,… — 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
