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The only reason I remembered this play was because it had a mad person in it, and everything I had ever read about mad people stuck in my mind, while everything else flew out.

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
Read
People
Else
Persons
Person
Reason
Flew
Ever
Mad
Everything
Remembered
Play
Stuck

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I must bridge the gap between adolescent glitter and mature glow.
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What I hate is the thought of being under a man's thumb, I had told Doctor Nolan. A man doesn't have a worry in the world, while I've got a baby hanging over my head like a big stick, to keep me in line.
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I want, I think, to be omniscient. I think I would like to call myself the girl who wanted to be God. Yet if I were not in this body where would I be-perhaps I am destined to be classified and qualified. But, oh, I cry out against it.
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Perhaps some day I'll crawl back home, beaten, defeated. But not as long as I can make stories out of my heartbreak, beauty out of sorrow.
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It is a feeling that no matter what the ideas or conduct of others, there is a unique rightness and beauty to life which can be shared in openness, in wind and sunlight, with a fellow human being who believes in the same basic principles.
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Not easy to state the change you made. If I'm alive now, I was dead, Though, like a stone, unbothered by it.
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You are the one. Solid the spaces lean on, envious. You are the baby in the barn.
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Dying Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well.
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I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.
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I believe that one should be able to control and manipulate experiences, even the most terrific, like madness, being tortured, this sort of experience, and one should be able to manipulate these experiences with an informed and an intelligent mini.
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The silence between us was so profound I thought part of it must be my fault.
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Love is a shadow. How you lie and cry after it
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I suppose if I gave myself the chance I could be an alcoholic.
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I wish you’d find the exit out of my head.
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I don’t care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual.
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The slime of all my yesterdays rots in the hollow of my skull.
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I was my own woman. The next step was to find the proper sort of man.
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What did my arms do before they held you?
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I must get my soul back from you I am killing my flesh without it.
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If I was going to fall, I would hang on to my small comforts, at least, for as long as I possibly could.
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