I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I am afraid. I am not solid, but hollow. I feel behind my eyes a numb, paralyzed cavern, a pit of hell,… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Didn't you know I'm going to be the greatest, most entertaining author and artist in the world? Well, don't feel badly, I… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated, arranged… — 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
I want to live and feel all the shades, tones, and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life. And… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Poetry, I feel, is a tyrannical discipline. You've got to go so far so fast in such a small space; you've got… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Sometimes I feel like I'm not solid. I'm hollow. There's nothing behind my eyes. I'm a negative of a person. All I… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Outcast on a cold star, unable to feel anything but an awful helpless numbness. I look down into the warm, earthy world.… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I feel, am mad as any writer must in one way be; why not make it real? I am too close to… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I am terrified by this dark thing That sleeps in me; All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity. Clouds… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I lay in that tub on the seventeenth floor of this hotel for-women-only, high up over the jazz and push of New… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Frustrated? Yes. Why? Because it is impossible for me to be God — or the universal woman-and-man — or anything much. I… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“I never feel so much myself as when I'm in a hot bath. I lay in that tub on the seventeenth floor… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I lay and cried, and began to feel again, to admit I was human, vulnerable, sensitive. I began to remember how it… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Nothing is real except the present, and already, I feel the weight of centuries smothering me. Some girl a hundred years ago… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“I am inhabited by a cry. Nightly it flaps out Looking, with its hooks, for something to love I am terrified by… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“Feel like the recluse who comes out into the world with a life-saving gospel to find everybody has learned a new language… — 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
... 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
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
“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
“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
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
“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
A million years of evolution, Eric said bitterly, and what are we? Animals. — Sylvia Plath Copy Share
“I have stitched life into me like a rare organ --from "Three Women: A Poem for Three Voices", written 1962” — Sylvia Plath Copy Share
“Flute Notes from a Reedy Pond" Now coldness comes sifting down, layer after layer, To our bower at the lily root. Overhead the old… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share
“The most saddening thing is to admit that I am not in love. I can only love (if that means self denial - or… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share
