I am accused. I dream of massacres. I am a garden of black and red agonies. I drink them, Hating myself, hating… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
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
Bright beads of red are rising through the ink, Hearts-blood bubbles smearing out into the black stream — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me. — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I saw the first of the 7-mile-long column appear - red and orange and green banners, 'Ban the Bomb!' etc., shining and… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. (I think I… — 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
Ash, ash —- You poke and stir. Flesh, bone, there is nothing there—— A cake of soap, A wedding ring, A gold… — 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
