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The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.
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
Writing
Enemy
Creativeness
Life
Written
Outgoing
Creative
Improvising
Fear
Persistence
Artist
Guts
Inspirational
Creativity
Beautiful
Worst
Self
Doubt
More quotes by Sylvia Plath
I wish you’d find the exit out of my head.
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I feel terribly vulnerable and 'not-myself' when I'm not writing.
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God has to remind us this isn't heaven by a long shot, so he increases the radios and lethal flies.
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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 like people too much or not at all.
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I am terrified by this dark thing that sleeps in me.
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They would grow old. They would forget me.
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There is a certain clinical satisfaction in seeing just how bad things can get.
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Can you understand? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little? For all my despair, for all my ideals, for all that - I love life. But it is hard, and I have so much - so very much to learn.
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It was my last act of love (first words to her mother in the hospital after her first major suicide attempt)
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A psychiatrist is the god of our age. But they cost money.
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The hardest thing, I think, is to live richly in the present, without letting it be tainted & spoiled out of fear for the future or regret for a badly-managed past.
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It never occurred to me to say no.
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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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I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.
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Love set you going like a fat gold watch. The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry Took its place among the elements.
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There is a certain unique and strange delight about walking down an empty street alone. There is an off-focus light cast by the moon, and the streetlights are part of the spotlight apparatus on a bare stage set up for you to walk through. You get a feeling of being listened to, so you talk aloud, softly, to see how it sounds.
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Go out and do something. It isn’t your room that’s a prison, it’s yourself.
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I felt dumb and subdued. Every time I tried to concentrate, my mind glided off, like a skater, into a large empty space, and pirouetted there, absently.
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A million years of evolution, Eric said bitterly, and what are we? Animals.
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