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Beached under the spumy blooms, we lie Sea-sick and fever-dry.
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
Lying
Blooms
Fever
Dry
Sea
Sick
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God, how I ricochet between certainties and doubts.
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You walked in, laughing, tears welling confused, mingling in your throat. How can you be so many women to so many people, oh you strange girl?
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See, the darkness is leaking from the cracks. I cannot contain it. I cannot contain my life.
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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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I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead I lift my eyes and all is born again.
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I feel occasionally my skull will crack, fatigue is continuous - I only go from less exhausted to more exhausted & back again.
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You smile. No, it is not fatal.
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I was my own woman. The next step was to find the proper sort of man.
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When you give someone your whole heart and he doesn't want it, you cannot take it back. It's gone forever.
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I felt very low. I had been unmasked only that morning by Jay Cee herself, and I felt now that all the uncomfortable suspicions I had about myself were coming true. After nineteen years of running after good marks and prizes and grants of one sort and another, I was letting up, slowing down, dropping clean out of race.
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I am so hungry for a big smashing creative burgeoning burdened love.
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The only reason I remembered this play was because it had a mad person in it, and everything I had ever read about mad people stuck in my mind, while everything else flew out.
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Eternity bores me, I never wanted it.
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The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.
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It is so much safer not to feel, not to let the world touch me.
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No day is safe from news of you.
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I hurl my heart to halt his pace.
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There is a certain unique and strange delight about walking down an empty street alone. There is an off-focus light cast by the moon, and the streetlights are part of the spotlight apparatus on a bare stage set up for you to walk through. You get a feeling of being listened to, so you talk aloud, softly, to see how it sounds.
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I am sure there are things that can't be cured by a good bath but I can't think of one.
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You ask me why I spend my life writing? Do I find entertainment? Is it worthwhile? Above all, does it pay? If not, then, is there a reason?... I write only because there is a voice within me. That will not be still.
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