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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
Sight
Barbed
Black
Dense
Didn
Dictionary
Book
Wire
Made
Picked
Mind
German
Time
Shut
Clam
Like
Letters
Clams

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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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I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead I lift my eyes and all is born again.
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There was a beautiful time.
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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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When they asked me what I wanted to be I said I didn't know.
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I felt like a racehorse in a world without racetracks or a champion college footballer suddenly confronted by Wall Street and a business suit, his days of glory shrunk to a little gold cup on his mantel with a date engraved on it like the date on a tombstone.
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And I identify too closely with my reading, with my writing.
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Let's face it: I'm scared, scared and frozen. First, I guess, I'm afraid for myself...the old primitive urge for survival. It's getting so I live every moment with terrible intensity.
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Is there no way out of the mind?
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And I sit here without identity: faceless. My head aches.
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What did my arms do before they held you?
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I would say everything should be able to come into a poem, but I can't put toothbrushes into a poem, I really can't!
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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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Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated, arranged and selected. I am a victim of it then, not a master.
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I'm happier writing about doctors than I would have been being one.
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I want to kill myself, to escape from responsiblity, to crawl abjectly back into the womb.
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... stop trying to get me to write about 'decent courageous people' -- read the Ladies' Home Journal for those! ... I believe in going through and facing the worst, not hiding from it.
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You are a dream I hope I never meet you.
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Your room is not your prison. You are.
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