“Mother of otherness, Eat me. --from "Poem for a Birthday - Who", written 1960” — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right, White as a knuckle and terribly upset. It drags… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
As a poet, one lives a bit on air. I always like someone who can teach me something practical. — 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… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“Nick and the Candlestick I am a miner. The light burns blue. Waxy stalactites Drip and thicken, tears The earthen womb Exudes… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“For me,” she wrote, “poetry is an evasion from the real job of writing prose.” Throughout” — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
What do you have in mind after you graduate?" What I always thought I had in mind was getting some big scholarship… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“Now, lying on my back in bed, I imagined Buddy saying, ‘Do you know what a poem is, Esther?’ ‘No, what?’ I… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I think the coming of spring, the stars overhead, the first snowfall and so on are gifts for a child, a young… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“O love, how did you get here? --from "Nick and the Candlestick", written 29 October 1962” — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I wonder about all the roads not taken and am moved to quote Frost...but won't. It is sad to be able only… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“Is it the sea you hear in me, Its dissatisfactions? Or the voice of nothing, that was you madness? --from "Elm", written… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
The one man in the room who was as big as his poems, huge, with hulk and dynamic chunks of words. — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“We are born adventurers, and the love of adventures never leaves us till we are very old; old, timid men, in whose… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I've got to have something. I want to stop it all, the whole monumental grotesque joke, before it's too late. But writing… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“I reckon a good poem lasts a whole lot longer than a hundred of those people put together.” — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“The still waters Wrap my lips, Eyes, nose and ears, A clear Cellophane I cannot crack.” — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“brave love, dream not of staunching such strict flame, but come, lean to my wound; burn on, burn on.” — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“I also remembered Buddy Willard saying in a sinister, knowing way that after I had children I would feel differently, I wouldn't… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“The blood jet is poetry, There is no stopping it. --from "Kindness", written 1 February 1963” — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Today is the first of August. It is hot, steamy and wet. It is raining. I am tempted to write a poem.… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“Well, one wearies of the Public Gardens: one wants a vacation Where trees and clouds and animals pay no notice; Away from… — 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
