A dispassionate white sun shone at the summit of the sky. I wanted to hone myself on it till I grew saintly… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
My best friends when I was young were always doctors. I used to dress up in a white gauze helmet and go… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
The future is what matters — because one never reaches it, but always stays in the present — like the White Queen… — 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
The lyric abstrusities of Auden ring mystically down the circular canals of my ear and it begins to look like snow. The… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
When I was nineteen, pureness was the great issue. Instead of the world being divided up into Catholics and Protestants or Republicans… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I shall never get out of this! There are two of me now: This new absolutely white person and the old yellow… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defenseless that I couldn't do… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly, as the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands. I am… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
The sickness rolled through me in great waves. After each wave it would fade away and leave me limp as a wet… — 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
The moon, too, abases her subjects, but in the daytime she is ridiculous. Your dissatisfactions, on the other hand, arrive through the… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I had always imagined myself hitching up on to my elbows on the delivery table after it was all over - dead… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
This is newness: every little tawdry Obstacle glass-wrapped and peculiar, Glinting and clinking in a saint's falsetto. Only you Don't know what… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defensless that I couldn't do… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
As I lay on my back in bed staring up at the blank, white ceiling the stillness seemed to grow bigger and… — 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
