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I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead I lift my eyes and all is born again.
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
Eyes
Drops
Eye
Lift
Born
Lifts
World
Shut
Chaos
Perspective
Spring
Dead
More quotes by Sylvia Plath
Perhaps some day I'll crawl back home, beaten, defeated. But not as long as I can make stories out of my heartbreak, beauty out of sorrow.
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A fierce brief fusion which dreamers call real, and realists, an illusion an insight like the flight of birds.
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With that strange knowing that comes over me, like a clairvoyance, I know that I am sure of myself and my enormous and alarmingly timeless love for you which will always be.
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I need not to be more with others, but to be more & more deeply, richly alone. Recreating worlds.
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It was sometime in October she had long ago lost track of all the days and it really didn’t matter because one was like another and there were no nights to separate them because she never slept any more.
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If every soldier refused to take arms ... there would be no wars but no one has the courage to be the first to live according to Christ and Socrates, because in a world of opportunists they would be martyred.
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I said: I must remember this, being small.
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I am terrified by this dark thing that sleeps in me.
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I dream too much, work too little.
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…'It always has to end, doesn't it? We always have to separate.' 'Yes,' I said. He was insistent, 'But it doesn't always have to be that way. We could be together some day for always.' 'Oh, no,' I told him, wondering if he knew it was all over. 'We keep running till we die. We separate, get further apart, till we are dead.
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If only I knew what I wanted I could try to see about getting it.
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I feel occasionally my skull will crack, fatigue is continuous - I only go from less exhausted to more exhausted & back again.
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She stared at her reflection in the glossed shop windows as if to make sure, moment by moment, that she continued to exist.
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At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do.
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I get into a rut, unable to yank my mind out of it.
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I felt very low. I had been unmasked only that morning by Jay Cee herself, and I felt now that all the uncomfortable suspicions I had about myself were coming true. After nineteen years of running after good marks and prizes and grants of one sort and another, I was letting up, slowing down, dropping clean out of race.
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I must bridge the gap between adolescent glitter and mature glow.
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I could never be a complete scholar or a complete housewife ora completewriter: Imustcombinea little of all, and thereby be imperfect in all.
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I wanted change and excitement and to shoot off in all directions myself, like the colored arrows from a Fourth of July rocket.
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You smile. No, it is not fatal.
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