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Clouds pass and disperse. Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables? Is it for such I agitate my heart?
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
Love
Disperse
Agitate
Pale
Clouds
Pass
Faces
Heart
More quotes by Sylvia Plath
I have no preconceptions. Whatever I see, I swallow immediately. Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike. I am not cruel, only truthful.
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Go out and do something. It isn’t your room that’s a prison, it’s yourself.
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What I didn't say was that each time I picked up a German dictionary or a German book, the very sight of those dense, black, barbed-wire letters made my mind shut like a clam.
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The claw of the magnolia, drunk on its own scents, asks nothing of life.
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Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams.
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…I hate myself for not being able to go downstairs naturally and seek comfort in numbers. I hate myself for having to sit here and be torn between I know not what within me.
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The trouble was, I had been inadequate all along, I simply hadn't thought about it.
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Love, love, I have hung our cave with roses.
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I don’t care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual.
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Aloneness and selfness are too important to betray for company.
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I feel that very strongly: having been an academic, having been tempted by the invitation to stay on to become a Ph.D., a professor, and all that, one side of me certainly does respect all disciplines, as long as they don't ossify.
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…'It always has to end, doesn't it? We always have to separate.' 'Yes,' I said. He was insistent, 'But it doesn't always have to be that way. We could be together some day for always.' 'Oh, no,' I told him, wondering if he knew it was all over. 'We keep running till we die. We separate, get further apart, till we are dead.
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Winning or losing an argument, receiving an acceptance or rejection, is no proof of the validity or value of personal identity. One may be wrong, mistaken, or a poor craftsman, or just ignorant - but this is no indication of the true worth of one's total human identity: past, present and future!
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My worst habit is my fear & my destructive rationalizing.
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I want to kill myself, to escape from responsiblity, to crawl abjectly back into the womb.
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I would say everything should be able to come into a poem, but I can't put toothbrushes into a poem, I really can't!
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I buried my head under the darkness of the pillow and pretended it was night. I couldn't see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.
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Don't let the wicked city get you down.
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I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted to lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty. How free it is, you have no idea how free.
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