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And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.
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
Sheer
Red
Aware
Heart
Blooms
Love
Closes
Bowl
Bowls
Opens
More quotes by Sylvia Plath
What I want back is what I was Before the bed, before the knife, Before the brooch-pin and the salve Fixed me in this parenthesis Horses fluent in the wind, A place, a time gone out of mind.
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How frail the human heart must be - a mirrored pool of thought.
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I tried to speak in a cool, calm way, but the zombie rose up in my throat and choked me off.
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What I fear most, I think, is the death of the imagination.
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We know a thing by its opposite corollary hot by having experienced cold good by having decided what is bad love by hate.
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You smile. No, it is not fatal.
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I felt like a racehorse in a world without racetracks.
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I have stitched life into me like a rare organ
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But life is long. And it is the long run that balances the short flare of interest and passion.
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Let's face it: I'm scared, scared and frozen. First, I guess, I'm afraid for myself...the old primitive urge for survival. It's getting so I live every moment with terrible intensity.
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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 am terrified by this dark thing that sleeps in me.
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Jealousy can open the blood, it can make black roses.
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This seemed a dreary and wasted life for a girl with fifteen years of straight A's, but I knew that's what marriage was like, because cook and clean and wash was just what Buddy Willard's mother did from morning till night, and she was the wife of a university professor and had been a private school teacher herself.
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Tomorrow I will curse the dawn, but there will be other, earlier nights, and the dawns will be no longer hell laid out in alarms and raw bells and sirens.
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A black-sharded lady keeps me in a parrot cage.
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I have never found anybody who could stand to accept the daily demonstrative love I feel in me, and give back as good as I give.
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I am jealous of those who think more deeply, who write better, who draw better, who ski better, who look better, who live better, who love better than I.
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Why the hell are we conditioned into the smooth strawberry-and-cream Mother-Goose-world, Alice-in-Wonderland fable, only to be broken on the wheel as we grow older and become aware of ourselves as individuals with a dull responsibility in life?
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If only I knew what I wanted I could try to see about getting it.
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