Quote

But I am I now and so many other millions are so irretrievably their own special variety of 'I' that I can hardly bear to think of it. I: how firm a letter how reassuring the three strokes: one vertical, proud and assertive, and then the two short horizontal lines in quick, smug succession. The pen scratching on the paper…I…I…I…I…I…I.

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
Millions
Firm
Vertical
Special
Variety
Reassuring
Lines
Bear
Succession
Three
Letters
Strokes
Irretrievably
Two
Bears
Pens
Smug
Many
Paper
Letter
Scratching
Think
Short
Quick
Assertive
Thinking
Proud
Hardly
Horizontal

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To look at her, you might not guess that inside she is laughing and crying, at her own stupidities and luckiness, and at the strange enigmatic ways of the world which she will spend lifetime trying to learn and understand.
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A psychiatrist is the god of our age. But they cost money.
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The only thing I could think of was turkey neck and turkey gizzards and I felt very depressed.
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I didn't really see why people should look at me. Plenty of people looked queerer than I did.
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They would grow old. They would forget me.
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You walked in, laughing, tears welling confused, mingling in your throat. How can you be so many women to so many people, oh you strange girl?
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I am so hungry for a big smashing creative burgeoning burdened love.
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After all, we are nothing more or less than we choose to reveal.
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My life is a discipline, a prison: I live for my own work, without which I am nothing.
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And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.
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God, how I ricochet between certainties and doubts.
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I am not cruel, only truthful.
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Yes, I was infatuated with you: I am still. No one has ever heightened such a keen capacity of physical sensation in me. I cut you out because I couldn't stand being a passing fancy. Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams. And you weren't having any of those.
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You are a dream I hope I never meet you.
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Then I decided I would spend the summer writing a novel. That would fix a lot of people.
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I do not know who I am tonight.
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The moon, also, is merciless: she would drag me Cruelly, being barren. Her radiance scathes me. Or perhaps I have caught her.
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It never occurred to me to say no.
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