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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

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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
Tree
Happiness
Inflate
Happy
Scenery
Felt
Lungs
Nature
Mountains
Thought
Trees
People
Mountain
Air

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One thing, I try to be honest. And what is revealed is often rather hideously unflattering.
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The silence between us was so profound I thought part of it must be my fault.
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What a man wants is a mate and what a woman wants is infinite security,’ and, ‘What a man is is an arrow into the future and a what a woman is is the place the arrow shoots off from.
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Don't let the wicked city get you down.
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I must say that I am not very genteel and I feel that gentility has a stranglehold: the neatness, the wonderful tidiness, which is so evident everywhere in England is perhaps more dangerous than it would appear on the surface.
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Look at that ugly dead mask here and do not forget it. It is a chalk mask with dead dry poison behind it, like the death angel. It is what I was this fall, and what I never want to be again. The pouting disconsolate mouth, the flat, bored, numb, expressionless eyes: symptoms of the foul decay within.
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I feel terribly vulnerable and 'not-myself' when I'm not writing.
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Jealousy can open the blood, it can make black roses.
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I, to you, am lost in the gorgeous errors of flesh.
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Piece by piece, I fed my wardrobe to the night wind, and flutteringly, like a loved one’s ashes, the gray scraps were ferried off, to settle here, there, exactly where I would never know, in the dark heart of New York.
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I have a violence in me that is hot as death-blood.
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Frustrated? Yes. Why? Because it is impossible for me to be God — or the universal woman-and-man — or anything much. I am what I feel and think and do. I want to express my being as fully as I can because I somewhere picked up the idea that I could justify my being alive that way.
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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.
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The man creates a pseudonym and hides behind it like a worm
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The only thing I could think of was turkey neck and turkey gizzards and I felt very depressed.
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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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It seemed silly to wash one day when I would only have to wash again the next. It made me tired just to think of it.
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Why do we electrocute men for murdering an individual and then pin a purple heart on them for mass slaughter of someone arbitrarily labeled “enemy?
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I have no preconceptions. Whatever I see, I swallow immediately. Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike. I am not cruel, only truthful.
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