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No, I won't try to escape myself by losing myself in artificial chatter 'Did you have a nice vacation?' 'Oh, yes, and you?' I'll stay here and try to pin that loneliness down.
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
Escape
Loneliness
Losing
Stay
Nice
Chatter
Trying
Pins
Vacation
Artificial
More quotes by Sylvia Plath
Winter is for women The woman still at her knitting, At the cradle of Spanish walnut, Her body a bulb in the cold and too dumb to think.
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So I kiss him, and there is the great dark sea ahead.
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They had to call and call And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
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Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams.
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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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How we need another soul to cling to.
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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.
Sylvia Plath
Dancing is the normal prelude to intercourse.
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Outcast on a cold star, unable to feel anything but an awful helpless numbness. I look down into the warm, earthy world. Into a nest of lovers' beds, baby cribs, meal tables, all the solid commerce of life in this earth, and feel apart, enclosed in a wall of glass.
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I like people, but to learn about one individual always appeals to me more than anything.
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I must bridge the gap between adolescent glitter and mature glow.
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Why the hell are we conditioned into the smooth strawberry-and-cream Mother-Goose-world, Alice-in-Wonderland fable, only to be broken on the wheel as we grow older and become aware of ourselves as individuals with a dull responsibility in life?
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Then I thought, No, I broke it myself. I broke it on purpose to pay myself back for being such a heel.
Sylvia Plath
I keep wanting to crawl back into the womb.
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I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery—air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, This is what it is to be happy.
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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.
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Beached under the spumy blooms, we lie Sea-sick and fever-dry.
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The sky leans on me, me, the one upright among all horizontals.
Sylvia Plath
I think that as far as language goes I'm an American, I'm afraid, my accent is American, my way of talk is an American way of talk, I'm an old-fashioned American. That's probably one of the reasons why I'm in England now and why I'll always stay in England.
Sylvia Plath
You have to be able to make a real creative life for Yourself, before you can expect anyone Else to provide one ready-made for you.
Sylvia Plath