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The silence drew off, baring the pebbles and shells and all the tatty wreckage of my life.
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
Pebbles
Drew
Shells
Silence
Life
Baring
Wreckage
More quotes by Sylvia Plath
When they asked me what I wanted to be I said I didn't know.
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August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.
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If every soldier refused to take arms ... there would be no wars but no one has the courage to be the first to live according to Christ and Socrates, because in a world of opportunists they would be martyred.
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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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Perhaps some day I'll crawl back home, beaten, defeated. But not as long as I can make stories out of my heartbreak, beauty out of sorrow.
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You are the one. Solid the spaces lean on, envious. You are the baby in the barn.
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Good to know that if I ever need attention all I have to do is die.
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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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The silence between us was so profound I thought part of it must be my fault.
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If only I knew what I wanted I could try to see about getting it.
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Life was not to be sitting in hot amorphic leisure in my backyard idly writing or not writing, as the spirit moved me. It was, instead, running madly, in a crowded schedule, in a squirrel cage of busy people. Working, living, dancing, dreaming, talking, kissing- singing, laughing, learning.
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we walk the plank with strangers.
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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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I dream too much, work too little.
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No, I won't try to escape myself by losing myself in artificial chatter 'Did you have a nice vacation?' 'Oh, yes, and you?' I'll stay here and try to pin that loneliness down.
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Sometimes I feel so stupid and dull and uncreative that I am amazed when people tell me differently.
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Jealousy can open the blood, it can make black roses.
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I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted to lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty. How free it is, you have no idea how free.
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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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Winter is for women The woman still at her knitting, At the cradle of Spanish walnut, Her body a bulb in the cold and too dumb to think.
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