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All the heat and fear had purged itself. I felt surprisingly at peace. The bell jar hung suspended a few feet above my head. I was open to the circulating air.

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
Heat
Purged
Air
Circulating
Feet
Surprisingly
Head
Jars
Open
Suspended
Peace
Bell
Fear
Bells
Felt
Hung

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The silence drew off, baring the pebbles and shells and all the tatty wreckage of my life.
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If I rest, if I think inward, I go mad.
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It was my last act of love (first words to her mother in the hospital after her first major suicide attempt)
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I wish you’d find the exit out of my head.
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You ask me why I spend my life writing? Do I find entertainment? Is it worthwhile? Above all, does it pay? If not, then, is there a reason?... I write only because there is a voice within me. That will not be still.
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The sickness rolled through me in great waves. After each wave it would fade away and leave me limp as a wet leaf and shivering all over and then I would feel it rising up in me again, and the glittering white torture chamber tiles under my feet and over my head and all four sides closed in and squeezed me to pieces.
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And the danger is that in this move toward new horizons and far directions, that I may lose what I have now, and not find anything except loneliness
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I have a violence in me that is hot as death-blood.
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