If you have no past or no future, which, after all, is all that the present is made of, why then you… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
What is so real as the cry of a child? A rabbit's cry may be wilder But it has no soul. — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
For the few little successes I may seem to have, there are acres of misgivings and self-doubt. — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
In a rabbit-fear I may hurl myself under the wheels of the car because the lights terrify me, and under the dark… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Here I am, a bundle of past recollections and future dreams, knotted up in a reasonably attractive bundle of flesh. I remember… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I have done, this year, what I said I would: overcome my fear of facing a blank page day after day, acknowledging… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Let's face it: I'm scared, scared and frozen. First, I guess I'm afraid for myself... the old primitive urge for survival. It's… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I can't deceive myself out of the bare stark realization that no matter how enthusiastic you are, no matter how sure that… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Although, I admit, I desire, Occasionally, some backtalk From the mute sky, I can't honestly complain: A certain minor light may still… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
And if you have no past or future which, after all, is all that the present is made of, why then you… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I may have made a straight A in physics, but I was panic-struck. Physics made me sick the whole time I learned… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I may never be happy, but tonight I am content. At times like this I'd call myself a fool to ask for… — 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
Winning or losing an argument, receiving an acceptance or rejection, is no proof of the validity or value of personal identity. One… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter - - - for always there will be greater and… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I must say what I admire most is the person who masters an area of practical experience, and can teach me something.… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I am flushed and warm. I think I may be enormous, I am so stupidly happy, My wellingtons Squelching and squelching through… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I am still raw. I say I may be back. You know what lies are for. Even in your Zen heaven we… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Let's face it: I'm scared, scared and frozen. First, I guess, I'm afraid for myself ... the old primitive urge for survival.… — 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
