I wish to cry. Yet, I laugh, and my lipstick leaves a red stain like a bloody crescent moon on top of… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
To look at her, you might not guess that inside she is laughing and crying, at her own stupidities and luckiness, and… — 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
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
Oh, something is there, waiting for me. Perhaps someday the revelation will burst in upon me and I will see the other… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
You walked in, laughing, tears welling confused, mingling in your throat. How can you be so many women to so many people,… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Life was not to be sitting in hot amorphic leisure in my backyard idly writing or not writing, as the spirit moved… — 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
