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Is anyone anywhere happy?

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
Happiness
Happy
Anywhere
Anyone

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There was a beautiful time.
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I want to become acutely aware of all I've taken for granted.
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We should meet in another life, we should meet in air, me and you.
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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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I like people too much or not at all.
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What I fear most, I think, is the death of the imagination.
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Tomorrow is another day toward death.
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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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I do not know who I am, where I am going - and I am the one who has to decide the answers to these hideous questions.
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I think that as far as language goes I'm an American, I'm afraid, my accent is American, my way of talk is an American way of talk, I'm an old-fashioned American. That's probably one of the reasons why I'm in England now and why I'll always stay in England.
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What is my life for and what am I going to do with it? I don't know and I'm afraid.
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I said: I must remember this, being small.
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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 a man wants is a mate and what a woman wants is infinite security,’ and, ‘What a man is is an arrow into the future and a what a woman is is the place the arrow shoots off from.
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Why honey, don't you want to get dressed? My mother took care never to tell me to do anything. She would only reason with me sweetly, like one intelligent, mature person with another. It's almost three in the afternoon. I'm writing a novel, I said. I haven't got time to change into this and change into that.
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I think I am worthwhile just because I have optical nerves and can try to put down what they perceive. What a fool!
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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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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 have a violence in me that is hot as death-blood.
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There is a certain clinical satisfaction in seeing just how bad things can get.
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