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A dispassionate white sun shone at the summit of the sky. I wanted to hone myself on it till I grew saintly and thin and essential as the blade of a knife.

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
Sky
Blades
Sun
Summit
Grew
Knife
White
Knives
Saintly
Wanted
Thin
Hone
Till
Dispassionate
Essential
Shone
Essentials
Blade

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I want to taste and glory in each day, and never be afraid to experience pain and never shut myself up in a numb core of nonfeeling, or stop questioning and criticizing life and take the easy way out. 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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If only I knew what I wanted I could try to see about getting it.
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You cannot regard your own life with objective curiosity all the time.
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Although, I admit, I desire, Occasionally, some backtalk From the mute sky, I can't honestly complain: A certain minor light may still Lean incandescent Out of kitchen table or chair As if a celestial burning took Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then --
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Tomorrow I will curse the dawn, but there will be other, earlier nights, and the dawns will be no longer hell laid out in alarms and raw bells and sirens.
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I felt like a racehorse in a world without racetracks.
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I used to pray to recover you.
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I am not cruel, only truthful.
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I think I may well be a Jew.
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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'm happier writing about doctors than I would have been being one.
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I opened the door and blinked out into the bright hall. I had the impression it wasn't night and it wasn't day, but some lurid third interval that had suddenly slipped between them and would never end.
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Eternity bores me, I never wanted it.
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I dream too much, work too little.
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...we shall board our imagined ship and wildly sail among sacred islands of the mad till death shatters the fabulous stars and makes us real.
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Talking about my fears to others feeds it.
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I do not love I do not love anybody except myself. That is a rather shocking thing to admit.
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