Quote

I felt like a racehorse in a world without racetracks or a champion college footballer suddenly confronted by Wall Street and a business suit, his days of glory shrunk to a little gold cup on his mantel with a date engraved on it like the date on a tombstone.

Sylvia Plath

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

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
Days
Suits
Engraved
Business
Suddenly
Tombstone
Felt
Street
Confronted
Littles
Gold
Footballer
Little
Glory
Suit
Mantel
Without
Streets
Date
Racehorse
Like
Wall
Cups
Racehorses
World
College
Champion
Shrunk

More quotes by Sylvia Plath

Image
I knew chemistry would be worse, because I'd seen a big card of the ninety-odd elements hung up in the chemistry lab, and all the perfectly good words like gold and silver and cobalt and aluminum were shortened to ugly abbreviations with different decimal numbers after them.
Sylvia Plath
Image
I am but one more drop in the great sea of matter, defined, with the ability to realize my existence.
Sylvia Plath
Image
I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery—air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, This is what it is to be happy.
Sylvia Plath
Image
I like people, but to learn about one individual always appeals to me more than anything.
Sylvia Plath
Image
And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.
Sylvia Plath
Image
The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence.
Sylvia Plath
Image
What is so real as the cry of a child?
Sylvia Plath
Image
I do not fear it: I have been there.
Sylvia Plath
Image
Ash, ash —- You poke and stir. Flesh, bone, there is nothing there—— A cake of soap, A wedding ring, A gold filling. Herr God, Herr Lucifer Beware Beware. Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air.
Sylvia Plath
Image
And you grit your teeth, despising yourself for your tremulous sensitivity, and wondering how human beings can suffer their individualities to be mercilessly crushed under a machinelike dictatorship, be it of industry, state or organization, all their lives long.
Sylvia Plath
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 poems and letters doesn't seem to do much good.
Sylvia Plath
Image
I am still so naïve I know pretty much what I like and dislike but please, don’t ask me who I am. A passionate, fragmentary girl, maybe?
Sylvia Plath
Image
Why can’t I try on different lives, like dresses, to see which fits best and is more becoming?
Sylvia Plath
Image
God, if ever I have come close to wanting to commit suicide, it is now, with the groggy sleepless blood dragging through my veins, and the air thick and gray with rain ... I fell into bed again this morning, begging for sleep, withdrawing into the dark, warm, fetid escape from action, from responsibility. No good.
Sylvia Plath
Image
I think the coming of spring, the stars overhead, the first snowfall and so on are gifts for a child, a young poet.
Sylvia Plath
Image
There was a beautiful time.
Sylvia Plath
Image
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.
Sylvia Plath
Image
we walk the plank with strangers.
Sylvia Plath
Image
Nothing is real except the present, and already, I feel the weight of centuries smothering me. Some girl a hundred years ago once lived as I do. And she is dead. I am the present, but I know I, too, will pass. The high moment, the burning flash, come and are gone, continuous quicksand. And I don’t want to die.
Sylvia Plath
Image
But writing poems and letters doesn't seem to do much good.
Sylvia Plath