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A man's world is different from a woman's world and a man's emotions are different from a woman's emotions and only marriage can bring the two different sets of emotions together properly.

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
Emotion
Bring
Woman
Two
Together
Properly
Different
Sets
Men
Emotions
World
Marriage

More quotes by Sylvia Plath

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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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I do not know who I am tonight.
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If they substituted the word 'Lust' for 'Love' in the popular songs it would come nearer the truth.
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I knew you'd decide to be all right again.
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I felt dull and flat and full of shattered visions.
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A skeptic, I would ask for consistency first of all.
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For me, poetry is an evasion of the real job of writing prose.
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I like you, but not too much. I don’t want to like anybody too much.
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I felt like a racehorse in a world without racetracks or a champion college footballer suddenly confronted by Wall Street and a business suit, his days of glory shrunk to a little gold cup on his mantel with a date engraved on it like the date on a tombstone.
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I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly, as the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands. I am nobody I have nothing to do with explosions.
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I have this demon who wants me to run away screaming if I am going to be flawed, fallible. It wants me to think I'm so good I must be perfect. Or nothing. I am, on the contrary, something: a being who gets tired, has shyness to fight, has more trouble than most facing people easily.
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As a poet I would say everything should be able to come into a poem but I can't put toothbrushes in a poem. I really can't.
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I need some older, wiser being to cry to. I talk to God, but the sky is empty, and Orion walks by and doesn't speak.
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I keep wanting to crawl back into the womb.
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I am still so naïve I know pretty much what I like and dislike but please, don’t ask me who I am. A passionate, fragmentary girl, maybe?
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I wanted to crawl in between those black lines of print, the way you crawl through a fence, and go to sleep under that beautiful big green fig-tree.
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But life is long. And it is the long run that balances the short flare of interest and passion.
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Although, I admit, I desire, Occasionally, some backtalk From the mute sky, I can't honestly complain: A certain minor light may still Lean incandescent Out of kitchen table or chair As if a celestial burning took Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then --
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Love is a shadow. How you lie and cry after it
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I don't know what started me, I just wrote poetry from the time was quite small. I guess I liked nursery rhymes and I guess I thought I could do the same thing. I wrote my first poem, my first published poem, when I was eight-and-a-half years old. It came out in The Boston Traveller and from then on, I suppose, I've been a bit of a professional.
Sylvia Plath