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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.
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
Mind
German
Time
Shut
Clam
Like
Letters
Clams
Sight
Barbed
Black
Dense
Didn
Dictionary
Book
Wire
Made
Picked
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I suppose if I gave myself the chance I could be an alcoholic.
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I saw the years of my life spaced along a road in the form of telephone poles threaded together by wires. I counted one, two, three... nineteen telephone poles, and then the wires dangled into space, and try as I would, I couldn't see a single pole beyond the nineteenth.
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I feel that very strongly: having been an academic, having been tempted by the invitation to stay on to become a Ph.D., a professor, and all that, one side of me certainly does respect all disciplines, as long as they don't ossify.
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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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The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence.
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Tomorrow is another day toward death.
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That’s one of the reasons I never wanted to get married. The last thing I wanted was infinite security and to be the place an arrow shoots off from. I wanted change and excitement and to shoot off in all directions myself, like the colored arrows from a Fourth of July rocket.
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Maybe forgetfulness, like a kind snow, should numb and cover them. But they were a part of me. They were my landscape.
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When they asked me what I wanted to be I said I didn't know.
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If I didn’t think, I’d be much happier.
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The moon, also, is merciless: she would drag me Cruelly, being barren. Her radiance scathes me. Or perhaps I have caught her.
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Slowly, slowly, catch the monkey.
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I dream too much, work too little.
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Nothing is real except the present, and already, I feel the weight of centuries smothering me. Some girl a hundred years ago once lived as I do. And she is dead. I am the present, but I know I, too, will pass. The high moment, the burning flash, come and are gone, continuous quicksand. And I don’t want to die.
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O heart, such disorganization!
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If only I knew what I wanted I could try to see about getting it.
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I could feel the winter shaking my bones and banging my teeth together.
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I like people too much or not at all.
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I started adding up all the things I couldn't do.
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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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