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Don't let the wicked city get you down.

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
Cities
Wicked
City

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Whenever I'm sad I'm going to die, or so nervous I can't sleep, or in love with somebody I won't be seeing for a week, I slump down just so far and then I say: 'I'll go take a hot bath.
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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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It is awful to want to go away and to want to go nowhere.
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I am too pure for you or anyone.
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And I sit here without identity: faceless. My head aches.
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Only I wasn't steering anything, not even myself.
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Hour by hour, day by day, life becomes possible.
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I could feel the winter shaking my bones and banging my teeth together.
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Poetry, I feel, is a tyrannical discipline. You've got to go so far, so fast, in such a small space, that you've got to burn away all the peripherals.
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I never feel so much myself as when I'm in a hot bath.
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Well, I know now. I know a little more how much a simple thing like a snowfall can mean to a person
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I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty. How free it is, you have no idea how free—— The peacefulness is so big it dazes you, And it asks nothing, a name tag, a few trinkets. It is what the dead close on, finally I imagine them Shutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet.
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No day is safe from news of you.
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My life is a discipline, a prison: I live for my own work, without which I am nothing.
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I think if I had done anything else I would like to have been a doctor. This is the sort of polar opposition to being a writer, I suppose.
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