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I have been holding a dialogue with myself and girding myself to stand fast without running.
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
Without
Holding
Dialogue
Fast
Stand
Running
More quotes by Sylvia Plath
Over coffee and orange juice the embryonic suicide brightens visibly.
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The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.
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I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.
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I collect men with interesting names.
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Is anyone anywhere happy?
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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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I never feel so much myself as when I'm in a hot bath.
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I must bridge the gap between adolescent glitter and mature glow.
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See, the darkness is leaking from the cracks. I cannot contain it. I cannot contain my life.
Sylvia Plath
Why can’t I try on different lives, like dresses, to see which fits best and is more becoming?
Sylvia Plath
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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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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The blood of love welled up in my heart with a slow pain.
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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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Nothing is real except the present, and already, I feel the weight of centuries smothering me. Some girl a hundred years ago once lived as I do. And she is dead. I am the present, but I know I, too, will pass. The high moment, the burning flash, come and are gone, continuous quicksand. And I don’t want to die.
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If only a group of people were more important to me than the idea of a Novel, I might begin a novel.
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Slowly, slowly, catch the monkey.
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Outcast on a cold star, unable to feel anything but an awful helpless numbness. I look down into the warm, earthy world. Into a nest of lovers' beds, baby cribs, meal tables, all the solid commerce of life in this earth, and feel apart, enclosed in a wall of glass.
Sylvia Plath
Dying Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well.
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What I want back is what I was Before the bed, before the knife, Before the brooch-pin and the salve Fixed me in this parenthesis Horses fluent in the wind, A place, a time gone out of mind.
Sylvia Plath