I would say everything should be able to come into a poem, but I can't put toothbrushes into a poem, I really… — 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
As a poet I would say everything should be able to come into a poem but I can't put toothbrushes in a… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I deserve that, don't I, some sort of blazing love that I can live with. — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I can't think logically about who I am or where I am going. I have been very ecstatic, horribly depressed, shocked, elated,… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Why am I obsessed with the idea I can justify myself by getting manuscripts published? Is it an escape-an excuse for any… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I guess they call it suicide, but I'm to full to swallow my pride I can't stand losing you The Police Dying… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I find that in a novel I can get more of life, perhaps not such intense life, but certainly more of life… — 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
