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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
Cling
Yearning
Loneliness
Another
Soul
Need
Needs
Companionship

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I believe that one should be able to control and manipulate experiences, even the most terrifying, like madness, being tortured...with an informed and intelligent mind.
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My life is a discipline, a prison: I live for my own work, without which I am nothing.
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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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I felt dull and flat and full of shattered visions.
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I do not know who I am tonight.
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I wanted to crawl in between those black lines of print, the way you crawl through a fence, and go to sleep under that beautiful big green fig-tree.
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I am what I feel and think and do.
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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.
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I buried my head under the darkness of the pillow and pretended it was night. I couldn't see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.
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I am myself. That is not enough.
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Then I thought, No, I broke it myself. I broke it on purpose to pay myself back for being such a heel.
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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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Let me sit in a flowerpot, The spiders won't notice. My heart is a stopped geranium.
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It is best to meet in a cul-de-sac, A palace of velvet With windows of mirrors. There one is safe, There are no family photographs, No rings through the nose, no cries.
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Not being perfect hurts.
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What I fear most, I think, is the death of the imagination.
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Can you understand? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little? For all my despair, for all my ideals, for all that - I love life. But it is hard, and I have so much - so very much to learn.
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Joy:show joy & enjoy: then others will be joyful.
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Well, I know now. I know a little more how much a simple thing like a snowfall can mean to a person
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The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.
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