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How we need another soul to cling to.

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
Yearning
Loneliness
Another
Soul
Need
Needs
Companionship
Cling

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If every soldier refused to take arms ... there would be no wars but no one has the courage to be the first to live according to Christ and Socrates, because in a world of opportunists they would be martyred.
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Some pale, hueless flicker of sensitivity is in me. God, must I lose it in cooking scrambled eggs for a man.
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To annihilate the world by annihilation of oneself is the deluded height of desperate egoism.
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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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What did my arms do before they held you?
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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.
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Over coffee and orange juice the embryonic suicide brightens visibly.
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I said: I must remember this, being small.
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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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That’s one of the reasons I never wanted to get married. The last thing I wanted was infinite security and to be the place an arrow shoots off from. 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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God has to remind us this isn't heaven by a long shot, so he increases the radios and lethal flies.
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I like people too much or not at all. I've got to go down deep, to fall into people, to really know them.
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I'm happier writing about doctors than I would have been being one.
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That afternoon my mother had brought me the roses. Save them for my funeral, I'd said.
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If there's anything I look down on, it's a man in a blue outfit.
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What I fear most, I think, is the death of the imagination.
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You are a dream I hope I never meet you.
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What I didn't say was that each time I picked up a German dictionary or a German book, the very sight of those dense, black, barbed-wire letters made my mind shut like a clam.
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I like people, but to learn about one individual always appeals to me more than anything.
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