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I decided I would put off the novel until I had gone to Europe and had a lover, and that I would never learn a word of shorthand. If I never learned shorthand I would never have to use it.

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
Novel
Learned
Gone
Word
Shorthand
Learn
Lover
Use
Lovers
Never
Decided
Would
Europe

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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 talk to God but the sky is empty.
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A dispassionate white sun shone at the summit of the sky. I wanted to hone myself on it till I grew saintly and thin and essential as the blade of a knife.
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I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am.
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No day is safe from news of you.
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I am too pure for you or anyone.
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I am accused. I dream of massacres. I am a garden of black and red agonies. I drink them, Hating myself, hating and fearing. And now the world conceives Its end and runs toward it, arms held out in love.
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What I fear most, I think, is the death of the imagination.
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I felt dumb and subdued. Every time I tried to concentrate, my mind glided off, like a skater, into a large empty space, and pirouetted there, absently.
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To look at her, you might not guess that inside she is laughing and crying, at her own stupidities and luckiness, and at the strange enigmatic ways of the world which she will spend lifetime trying to learn and understand.
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A black-sharded lady keeps me in a parrot cage.
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But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defenseless that I couldn't do it.
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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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What horrifies me most is the idea of being useless: well-educated, brilliantly promising, and fading out into an indifferent middle age.
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I like people too much or not at all.
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To annihilate the world by annihilation of oneself is the deluded height of desperate egoism.
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There I went again, building up a glamorous picture of a man who would love me passionately the minute he met me, and all out of a few prosy nothings.
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I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.
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…beating time along the edge of thought.
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Why can’t I try on different lives, like dresses, to see which fits best and is more becoming?
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