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It is awful to want to go away and to want to go nowhere.

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
Nowhere
Awful
Away

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I've got to have something. I want to stop it all, the whole monumental grotesque joke, before it's too late. But writing poems and letters doesn't seem to do much good.
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I do not know who I am tonight.
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The hardest thing, I think, is to live richly in the present, without letting it be tainted & spoiled out of fear for the future or regret for a badly-managed past.
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I am made, crudely, for success.
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Every day is precious and I feel infinitely sad at this time melting away from me.
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I'm about fifty years behind as far as my preferences go and I must say that the poets who excite me most are the Americans. There are very few contemporary English poets that I admire.
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I want to taste and glory in each day, and never be afraid to experience pain and never shut myself up in a numb core of nonfeeling, or stop questioning and criticizing life and take the easy way out. To learn and think: to think and live to live and learn: this always, with new insight, new understanding, and new love.
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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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I dream too much, work too little.
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I keep wanting to crawl back into the womb.
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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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A psychiatrist is the god of our age. But they cost money.
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Character is fate.
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With me, the present is forever, and forever is always shifting, flowing, melting. This second is life. And when it is gone it is dead. But you can't start over with each new second. You have to judge by what is dead. It's like quicksand... hopeless from the start.
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You are a dream I hope I never meet you.
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I have let things slip, a thirty-year~old cargo boat Stubbornly hanging on to my name and address.
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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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A million years of evolution, Eric said bitterly, and what are we? Animals.
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The woman is perfected. Her dead Body wears the smile of accomplishment.
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I felt the first man I slept with must be intelligent, so I could respect him.
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