Quote

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.

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
Like
Bones
Soap
Rise
Filling
Flesh
Ashes
Herr
Air
Wedding
Lucifer
Gold
Ring
Poke
Hair
Cake
Stir
Nothing
Rings
Beware
Men
Red
Bone

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I want to become acutely aware of all I've taken for granted.
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I like people, but to learn about one individual always appeals to me more than anything.
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I may have made a straight A in physics, but I was panic-struck. Physics made me sick the whole time I learned it.
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Life has been some combination of fairy-tale coincidence and joie de vivre and shocks of beauty together with some hurtful self-questioning.
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And you grit your teeth, despising yourself for your tremulous sensitivity, and wondering how human beings can suffer their individualities to be mercilessly crushed under a machinelike dictatorship, be it of industry, state or organization, all their lives long.
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And if you have no past or future which, after all, is all that the present is made of, why then you may as well dispose of the empty shell of present and commit suicide.
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I must not be selfless: develop a sense of self. A solidness that can't be attacked.
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It is awful to want to go away and to want to go nowhere.
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Winning or losing an argument, receiving an acceptance or rejection, is no proof of the validity or value of personal identity. One may be wrong, mistaken, or a poor craftsman, or just ignorant - but this is no indication of the true worth of one's total human identity: past, present and future!
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How can I tell Bob that my happiness streams from having wrenched a piece out of my life, a piece of hurt and beauty, and transformed it to typewritten words on paper? How can he know I am justifying my life, my keen emotions, my feeling, by turning it into print?
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I know the bottom, she says. I know it with my great tap root: It is what you fear. I do not fear it: I have been there.
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The woman is perfected. Her dead Body wears the smile of accomplishment.
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What I didn't say was that each time I picked up a German dictionary or a German book, the very sight of those dense, black, barbed-wire letters made my mind shut like a clam.
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