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There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them.

Sylvia Plath

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Sylvia Plath
Age: 30 †
Born: 1932
Born: October 27
Died: 1963
Died: February 11
Autobiographer
Diarist
Essayist
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Boston
Massachusetts
Victoria Lucas
Sylvia Plath Hughes
Quite
Cures
Bath
Inspirational
Feminism
Sad
Women
Classic
Baths
Many
Hot
Stressful
Must
Stress
Relaxation
Things
Anxiety
Stressed
Inspire
Bathroom
Bathtubs
Health
Cure
Bathing

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A skeptic, I would ask for consistency first of all.
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I have let things slip, a thirty-year~old cargo boat Stubbornly hanging on to my name and address.
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But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defensless that I couldn't do it. It was as if what I wanted to kill wasn't in that skin or the thin blue pulse that jumped under my thumb, but somewhere else, deeper, more secret, and a whole lot harder to get.
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I didn't really see why people should look at me. Plenty of people looked queerer than I did.
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Let me sit in a flowerpot, The spiders won't notice. My heart is a stopped geranium.
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I deserve that, don't I, some sort of blazing love that I can live with.
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Well, I know now. I know a little more how much a simple thing like a snowfall can mean to a person
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Maybe forgetfulness, like a kind snow, should numb and cover them. But they were a part of me. They were my landscape.
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There is a certain unique and strange delight about walking down an empty street alone. There is an off-focus light cast by the moon, and the streetlights are part of the spotlight apparatus on a bare stage set up for you to walk through. You get a feeling of being listened to, so you talk aloud, softly, to see how it sounds.
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I am still raw. I say I may be back. You know what lies are for. Even in your Zen heaven we shan't meet.
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I suppose if I gave myself the chance I could be an alcoholic.
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I am flushed and warm. I think I may be enormous, I am so stupidly happy, My wellingtons Squelching and squelching through the beautiful red.
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I have the one person I could ever love in this world. Now I must work to be a person worthy of that.
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I felt dull and flat and full of shattered visions.
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I buried my head under the darkness of the pillow and pretended it was night. I couldn't see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.
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A man's world is different from a woman's world and a man's emotions are different from a woman's emotions and only marriage can bring the two different sets of emotions together properly.
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Outcast on a cold star, unable to feel anything but an awful helpless numbness. I look down into the warm, earthy world. Into a nest of lovers' beds, baby cribs, meal tables, all the solid commerce of life in this earth, and feel apart, enclosed in a wall of glass.
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