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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.
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
Lucky
Guessing
Understand
Laughing
Crying
Women
Inside
Laughed
Look
Strange
Stupidity
Might
Cry
Looks
Learning
Lifetime
Trying
Ways
Guess
Stupidities
Way
Understanding
Spend
Enigmatic
World
Learn
More quotes by Sylvia Plath
The silence drew off, baring the pebbles and shells and all the tatty wreckage of my life.
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I used to pray to recover you.
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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.
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Ash, ash —- You poke and stir. Flesh, bone, there is nothing there—— A cake of soap, A wedding ring, A gold filling. Herr God, Herr Lucifer Beware Beware. Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air.
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I tried to speak in a cool, calm way, but the zombie rose up in my throat and choked me off.
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I do not know who I am tonight.
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I hurl my heart to halt his pace.
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I think my poems immediately come out of the sensuous and emotional experiences I have, but I must say I cannot sympathise with these cries from the heart that are informed by nothing except a needle or a knife, or whatever it is.
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I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting in between.
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And if you have no past or future which, after all, is all that the present is made of, why then you may as well dispose of the empty shell of present and commit suicide.
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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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I suppose if I gave myself the chance I could be an alcoholic.
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I decided I would put off the novel until I had gone to Europe and had a lover, and that I would never learn a word of shorthand. If I never learned shorthand I would never have to use it.
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Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated, arranged and selected. I am a victim of it then, not a master.
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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.
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There is nothing like puking with somebody to make you into old friends.
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I said: I must remember this, being small.
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I am too pure for you or anyone.
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I may have made a straight A in physics, but I was panic-struck. Physics made me sick the whole time I learned it.
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All the heat and fear had purged itself. I felt surprisingly at peace. The bell jar hung suspended a few feet above my head. I was open to the circulating air.
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