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Now I am silent, hate Up to my neck, Thick, thick. I do not speak.
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
Necks
Thick
Silent
Hate
Speak
Neck
More quotes by Sylvia Plath
because wherever I sat—on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok—I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.
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The woman is perfected. Her dead Body wears the smile of accomplishment.
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Character is fate.
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The thought that I might kill myself formed in my mind coolly as a tree or a flower.
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I used to pray to recover you.
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I am but one more drop in the great sea of matter, defined, with the ability to realize my existence.
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You smile. No, it is not fatal.
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Please don’t expect me to always be good and kind and loving. There are times when I will be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand.
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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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The blood of love welled up in my heart with a slow pain.
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I do not fear it: I have been there.
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I am made, crudely, for success.
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I lean to you, numb as a fossil. Tell me I'm here.
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I have never found anybody who could stand to accept the daily demonstrative love I feel in me, and give back as good as I give.
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I said: I must remember this, being small.
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…I hate myself for not being able to go downstairs naturally and seek comfort in numbers. I hate myself for having to sit here and be torn between I know not what within me.
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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.
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What I want back is what I was Before the bed, before the knife, Before the brooch-pin and the salve Fixed me in this parenthesis Horses fluent in the wind, A place, a time gone out of mind.
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Then I decided I would spend the summer writing a novel. That would fix a lot of people.
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I like people, but to learn about one individual always appeals to me more than anything.
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