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I am still raw. I say I may be back. You know what lies are for. Even in your Zen heaven we shan't meet.
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
Heaven
Lying
Stills
Still
May
Back
Shan
Even
Lies
Meet
More quotes by Sylvia Plath
The thought that I might kill myself formed in my mind coolly as a tree or a flower.
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In spite of everything, I still have my good old sense of humor.
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I want, I think, to be omniscient. I think I would like to call myself the girl who wanted to be God. Yet if I were not in this body where would I be-perhaps I am destined to be classified and qualified. But, oh, I cry out against it.
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Doing all the little tricky things it takes to grow up, step by step, into an anxious and unsettling world.
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Sometimes I nursed starfish alive in jam jars of seawater and watched them grow back lost arms. On this day, this awful birthday of otherness, my rival, somebody else, I flung the starfish against a stone. Let it perish.
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I can't think logically about who I am or where I am going. I have been very ecstatic, horribly depressed, shocked, elated, enlightened, and enervated.
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Sunday-the doctor's paradise! Doctors at country clubs, doctors at the seaside, doctors with mistresses, doctors with wives, doctors in church, doctors in yachts, doctors everywhere resolutely being people, not doctors.
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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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I think if I had done anything else I would like to have been a doctor. This is the sort of polar opposition to being a writer, I suppose.
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I've got to have something. I want to stop it all, the whole monumental grotesque joke, before it's too late. But writing poems and letters doesn't seem to do much good.
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Dancing is the normal prelude to intercourse.
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Every woman adores a Fascist, The boot in the face, the brute Brute heart of a brute like you.
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I dream too much, work too little.
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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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Ash, ash —- You poke and stir. Flesh, bone, there is nothing there—— A cake of soap, A wedding ring, A gold filling. Herr God, Herr Lucifer Beware Beware. Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air.
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I hurl my heart to halt his pace.
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I collected men with interesting names. I already knew a Socrates. He was tall and ugly and intellectual and the son of some big Greek movie producer in Hollywood, but also a Catholic, which ruined it for both of us.
Sylvia Plath
My life is a discipline, a prison: I live for my own work, without which I am nothing.
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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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What I fear most, I think, is the death of the imagination.
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