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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.
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
Great
Root
Roots
Bottom
Says
Fear
More quotes by Sylvia Plath
I like people, but to learn about one individual always appeals to me more than anything.
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The moon, too, abases her subjects, but in the daytime she is ridiculous. Your dissatisfactions, on the other hand, arrive through the mailslot with loving regularity, white and blank, expansive as carbon monoxide. No day is safe from news of you, walking about in Africa maybe, but thinking of me.
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I want to become acutely aware of all I've taken for granted.
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A fierce brief fusion which dreamers call real, and realists, an illusion an insight like the flight of birds.
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I have taken a pill to kill The thin Papery feeling.
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When they asked me what I wanted to be I said I didn't know.
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A black-sharded lady keeps me in a parrot cage.
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Why the hell are we conditioned into the smooth strawberry-and-cream Mother-Goose-world, Alice-in-Wonderland fable, only to be broken on the wheel as we grow older and become aware of ourselves as individuals with a dull responsibility in life?
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I like people too much or not at all.
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What horrifies me most is the idea of being useless: well-educated, brilliantly promising, and fading out into an indifferent middle age.
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A man's world is different from a woman's world and a man's emotions are different from a woman's emotions and only marriage can bring the two different sets of emotions together properly.
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What did my arms do before they held you?
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And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.
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…I hate myself for not being able to go downstairs naturally and seek comfort in numbers. I hate myself for having to sit here and be torn between I know not what within me.
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I, to you, am lost in the gorgeous errors of flesh.
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There was a beautiful time.
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Miracles occur, If you dare to call those spasmodic Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait's begun again, The long wait for the angel, For that rare, random descent.
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The trouble was, I had been inadequate all along, I simply hadn't thought about it.
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We stayed at home to write, to consolidate our outstretched selves.
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It is so much safer not to feel, not to let the world touch me.
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