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There is so much hurt in this game of searching for a mate, of testing, trying. And you realize suddenly that you forgot it was a game, and turn away in tears.
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
Away
Realize
Mate
Trying
Game
Forgot
Much
Realizing
Mates
Turn
Testing
Hurt
Searching
Games
Dating
Turns
Suddenly
Inspirational
Tears
More quotes by Sylvia Plath
I have to live my life, and it is the only one I’ll ever have.
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You smile. No, it is not fatal.
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When they asked some old Roman philosopher or other how he wanted to die, he said he would open his veins in a warm bath. I thought it would be easy, lying in the tup and seeing the redness flower from my wrists, flush after flush through the clear water, till I sank into sleep under a surface gaudy as poppies.
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I am not cruel, only truthful.
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I felt dumb and subdued. Every time I tried to concentrate, my mind glided off, like a skater, into a large empty space, and pirouetted there, absently.
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I have this demon who wants me to run away screaming if I am going to be flawed, fallible. It wants me to think I'm so good I must be perfect. Or nothing. I am, on the contrary, something: a being who gets tired, has shyness to fight, has more trouble than most facing people easily.
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I have the one person I could ever love in this world. Now I must work to be a person worthy of that.
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I suppose if I gave myself the chance I could be an alcoholic.
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I lean to you, numb as a fossil. Tell me I'm here.
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Piece by piece, I fed my wardrobe to the night wind, and flutteringly, like a loved one’s ashes, the gray scraps were ferried off, to settle here, there, exactly where I would never know, in the dark heart of New York.
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As from a star I saw, coldly and soberly, the separateness of everything. I felt the wall of my skin I am I. That stone is a stone. My beautiful fusion with the things of this world was over.
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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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But when I took up my pen, my hand made big, jerky letters like those of a child, and the lines sloped down the page from left to right horizontally, as if they were loops of string lying on the paper, and someone had come along and blown them askew.
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The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence.
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The trouble was, I had been inadequate all along, I simply hadn't thought about it.
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To learn and think to think and live to live and learn: this always, with new insight, new understanding, and new love.
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And there's the fallacy of existence: the idea that one could be happy forever and age with a given situation or series of accomplishments.
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I knew chemistry would be worse, because I'd seen a big card of the ninety-odd elements hung up in the chemistry lab, and all the perfectly good words like gold and silver and cobalt and aluminum were shortened to ugly abbreviations with different decimal numbers after them.
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I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.
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Don't let the wicked city get you down.
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