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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.
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
Death
Islands
Shatters
Makes
Ships
Wildly
Real
Mad
Fabulous
Till
Sail
Sacred
Board
Among
Ship
Shall
Imagined
Stars
Boards
More quotes by Sylvia Plath
I felt the mask crumple, the great poisonous store of corrosive ashes begin to spew out of my mouth.
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I would say everything should be able to come into a poem, but I can't put toothbrushes into a poem, I really can't!
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I like people too much or not at all. I've got to go down deep, to fall into people, to really know them.
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I am sure there are things that can't be cured by a good bath but I can't think of one.
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I must bridge the gap between adolescent glitter and mature glow.
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Eternity bores me, I never wanted it.
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I need some older, wiser being to cry to. I talk to God, but the sky is empty, and Orion walks by and doesn't speak.
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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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I am still raw. I say I may be back. You know what lies are for. Even in your Zen heaven we shan't meet.
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Life was not to be sitting in hot amorphic leisure in my backyard idly writing or not writing, as the spirit moved me. It was, instead, running madly, in a crowded schedule, in a squirrel cage of busy people. Working, living, dancing, dreaming, talking, kissing- singing, laughing, learning.
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When you give someone your whole heart and he doesn't want it, you cannot take it back. It's gone forever.
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The sky leans on me, me, the one upright among all horizontals.
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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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because wherever I sat—on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok—I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.
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I must not be selfless: develop a sense of self. A solidness that can't be attacked.
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The trouble was, I had been inadequate all along, I simply hadn't thought about it.
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I need the reality of other people, work, to fulfill myself. Must never become a mere mother and housewife.
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I am jealous of those who think more deeply, who write better, who draw better, who ski better, who look better, who live better, who love better than I.
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I was my own woman. The next step was to find the proper sort of man.
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I like people too much or not at all.
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