Quote

Miracles occur, If you dare to call those spasmodic Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait's begun again, The long wait for the angel, For that rare, random descent.

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
Miracle
Random
Wait
Begun
Waiting
Occur
Call
Miracles
Long
Rare
Tricks
Spasmodic
Dare
Radiance
Angel
Descent

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Sometimes I feel so stupid and dull and uncreative that I am amazed when people tell me differently.
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If I have a dry spell ... I wait and live harder, eyes, ears, and heart open, and when the productive time comes, it is that much richer.
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I love life. But it is hard and I have so much, so very much to learn.
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I never feel so much myself as when I'm in a hot bath.
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I have this demon who wants me to run away screaming if I am going to be flawed, fallible. It wants me to think I'm so good I must be perfect. Or nothing. I am, on the contrary, something: a being who gets tired, has shyness to fight, has more trouble than most facing people easily.
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I had always imagined myself hitching up on to my elbows on the delivery table after it was all over - dead white, of course, with no makeup and from the awful ordeal, but smiling and radiant, with my hair down to my waist, and reaching out for my first little squirmy child and saying its name, whatever it was.
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I am solitary as grass. What is it I miss? Shall I ever find it, whatever it is?
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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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…beating time along the edge of thought.
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What is so real as the cry of a child?
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I'm happier writing about doctors than I would have been being one.
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Doing all the little tricky things it takes to grow up, step by step, into an anxious and unsettling world.
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I can't think logically about who I am or where I am going. I have been very ecstatic, horribly depressed, shocked, elated, enlightened, and enervated.
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I'm about fifty years behind as far as my preferences go and I must say that the poets who excite me most are the Americans. There are very few contemporary English poets that I admire.
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I know the bottom, she says. I know it with my great tap root: It is what you fear. I do not fear it: I have been there.
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Every day is precious and I feel infinitely sad at this time melting away from me.
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You are the one. Solid the spaces lean on, envious. You are the baby in the barn.
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It is a feeling that no matter what the ideas or conduct of others, there is a unique rightness and beauty to life which can be shared in openness, in wind and sunlight, with a fellow human being who believes in the same basic principles.
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If only a group of people were more important to me than the idea of a Novel, I might begin a novel.
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I need more than anything right now what is, of course, most impossible, someone to love me, to be with me at night when I wake up in shuddering horror and fear of the cement tunnels leading down to the shock room, to comfort me with an assurance that no psychiatrist can quite manage to convey.
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