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The slime of all my yesterdays rots in the hollow of my skull.

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
Yesterdays
Slime
Skull
Skulls
Hollow
Yesterday
Rots

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I couldn’t see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.
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Pretty soon, the only doubt in my mind was the precise time and method of committing suicide. The only alternative I could see was an eternity of hell for the rest of my life in a mental hospital, and I was going to use my last ounce of free choice and choose a quick clean ending.
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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.
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You are the one. Solid the spaces lean on, envious. You are the baby in the barn.
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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 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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And you grit your teeth, despising yourself for your tremulous sensitivity, and wondering how human beings can suffer their individualities to be mercilessly crushed under a machinelike dictatorship, be it of industry, state or organization, all their lives long.
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I am still raw. I say I may be back. You know what lies are for. Even in your Zen heaven we shan't meet.
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I have to live my life, and it is the only one I’ll ever have.
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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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Eternity bores me, I never wanted it.
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Love set you going like a fat gold watch. The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry Took its place among the elements.
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The only reason I remembered this play was because it had a mad person in it, and everything I had ever read about mad people stuck in my mind, while everything else flew out.
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If there's anything I look down on, it's a man in a blue outfit.
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I find that in a novel I can get more of life, perhaps not such intense life, but certainly more of life than in poetry.
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It seemed silly to wash one day when I would only have to wash again the next. It made me tired just to think of it.
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A black-sharded lady keeps me in a parrot cage.
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Not easy to state the change you made. If I'm alive now, I was dead, Though, like a stone, unbothered by it.
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