If I was going to fall, I would hang on to my small comforts, at least, for as long as I possibly… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Hurl yourself at goals above your head and bear the lacerations that come when you slip and make a fool of yourself.… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Miracles occur, If you dare to call those spasmodic Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait's begun again, The long wait for the… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
And you grit your teeth, despising yourself for your tremulous sensitivity, and wondering how human beings can suffer their individualities to be… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
So much working, reading, thinking, living to do! A lifetime is not long enough. — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
God has to remind us this isn't heaven by a long shot, so he increases the radios and lethal flies. — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
So much working, reading, thinking, living to do. A lifetime is not long enough. Nor youth to old age long enough. Immortality… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I don't know how long I kept at it... I felt reasonably safe, streched out on the floor, and lay quite still.… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
But life is long. And it is the long run that balances the short flare of interest and passion. — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Ironically, Henry James' biography comforts me & I long to make known to him his posthumous reputation he wrote, in pain, gave… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
The reason I haven't been writing in this book for so long is partly that I haven't had one decent coherent thought… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
It was sometime in October; she had long ago lost track of all the days and it really didn’t matter because one… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I saw the days of the year stretching ahead like a series of bright, white boxes, and separating one box from another… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Perhaps some day I'll crawl back home, beaten, defeated. But not as long as I can make stories out of my heartbreak,… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I thought it sounded just like the sort of drug a man would invent. Here was a woman in terrible pain, obviously… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I always was interested in prose. As a teenager, I published short stories. And I always wanted to write the long short… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
God, but life is loneliness, despite all the opiates, despite the shrill tinsel gaiety of "parties" with no purpose, despite the false… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
…* to learn that money makes life smooth in some ways, and to feel how tight and threadbare life is if you… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I feel that very strongly: having been an academic, having been tempted by the invitation to stay on to become a Ph.D.,… — 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
