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What I fear most, I think, is the death of the imagination.

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
Think
Thinking
Imagination
Fear

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I have taken a pill to kill The thin Papery feeling.
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There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them.
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Beached under the spumy blooms, we lie Sea-sick and fever-dry.
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Let's face it: I'm scared, scared and frozen. First, I guess, I'm afraid for myself...the old primitive urge for survival. It's getting so I live every moment with terrible intensity.
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I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead I lift my eyes and all is born again.
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I had imagined a kind, ugly, intuitive man looking up and say, 'Ah!' in an encouraging way, as if he could see something I couldn't, and then I would find words to tell him how I was so scared, as if I were being stuffed farther and farther into a black, airless sack with no way out.
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I love life. But it is hard and I have so much, so very much to learn.
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It is best to meet in a cul-de-sac, A palace of velvet With windows of mirrors. There one is safe, There are no family photographs, No rings through the nose, no cries.
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I saw the years of my life spaced along a road in the form of telephone poles threaded together by wires. I counted one, two, three... nineteen telephone poles, and then the wires dangled into space, and try as I would, I couldn't see a single pole beyond the nineteenth.
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It was sometime in October she had long ago lost track of all the days and it really didn’t matter because one was like another and there were no nights to separate them because she never slept any more.
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With that strange knowing that comes over me, like a clairvoyance, I know that I am sure of myself and my enormous and alarmingly timeless love for you which will always be.
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We know a thing by its opposite corollary hot by having experienced cold good by having decided what is bad love by hate.
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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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I felt like a racehorse in a world without racetracks.
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I must bridge the gap between adolescent glitter and mature glow.
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It is so much safer not to feel, not to let the world touch me.
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I must get my soul back from you I am killing my flesh without it.
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I am accused. I dream of massacres. I am a garden of black and red agonies. I drink them, Hating myself, hating and fearing. And now the world conceives Its end and runs toward it, arms held out in love.
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What is my life for and what am I going to do with it? I don't know and I'm afraid.
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Why can’t I try on different lives, like dresses, to see which fits best and is more becoming?
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