Every day one has to earn the name of 'writer' over again, with much wrestling. — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Can a selfish egocentric jealous and unimaginative female write a damn thing worthwhile? — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“How could I write about life when I'd never had a love affair or a baby or seen anybody die?” — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Secretly, in studies and attics and schoolrooms all over America, people must be writing. — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Very depressed today. Unable to write a thing. Menacing gods. I feel outcast on a cold star, unable to feel anything but… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Nothing stinks like a pile of unpublished writing, which remark I guess shows I still don't have a pure motive (O it's-such-fun-I-just-can't-stop-who-cares-if-it's-published-or-read)… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Writing, then, was a substitute for myself: if you don't love me, love my writing & love me for my writing. It… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I am jealous of those who think more deeply, who write better, who draw better, who ski better, who look better, who… — 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 think if I had done anything else I would like to have been a doctor. This is the sort of polar… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Do I like to write? Why? About what? Will I give up and say, "Living and feeding a man's insatiable guts and… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I think writers are the most narcissistic people. Well, I musn't say this, I like many of them, a great many of… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
You ask me why I spend my life writing? Do I find entertainment? Is it worthwhile? Above all, does it pay? If… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Why am I obsessed with the idea I can justify myself by getting manuscripts published? Is it an escape-an excuse for any… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Life was not to be sitting in hot amorphic leisure in my backyard idly writing or not writing, as the spirit moved… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Some things are hard to write about. After something happens to you, you go to write it down, and either you over… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
The thing about writing is not to talk, but to do it; no matter how bad or even mediocre it is, the… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Since my woman's world is perceived greatly through the emotions and the senses, I treat it that way in my writing -… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I thought if only I had a keen, shapely bone structure to my face or could discuss politics shrewdly or was a… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
At this rate, I'd be lucky if I wrote a page a day. Then I knew what the problem was. I needed… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“Where was life? It dissipated, vanished into thin air, and my life stood weighed and found wanting because it had no ready-made… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“...my writing, my desire to be many lives. I will be a little god in my small way. At home on my… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I think the whole emphasis in England, in universities, on practical criticism (but not that so much as on historical criticism, knowing… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“I want to write because I have the urge to excel in one medium of translation and expression of life. I can't… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
…* to know a lot of people I love pieces of, and to want to synthesize those pieces in me somehow, be… — 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… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“So I am led to one or two choices! Can I write? Will I write if I practice enough? How much should… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
So you got rid of your astonishment that someone could write so much more dynamically than you. You stopped cherishing your aloneness… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“Life was not to be sitting in hot amorphic leisure in my backyard idly writing or not-writing, as the spirit moved me.… — 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
Then I decided I would spend the summer writing a novel. That would fix a lot of people. — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I write only because There is a voice within me That will not be still — 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
