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I have a violence in me that is hot as death-blood.

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
Violence
Blood
Death
Hot

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The moon, also, is merciless: she would drag me Cruelly, being barren. Her radiance scathes me. Or perhaps I have caught her.
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I want to kill myself, to escape from responsiblity, to crawl abjectly back into the womb.
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So I began to think maybe it was true that when you were married and had children it was like being brainwashed, and afterward you went about as numb as a slave in a totalitarian state.
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I do not know who I am tonight.
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Is there no way out of the mind?
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We stayed at home to write, to consolidate our outstretched selves.
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I didn't really see why people should look at me. Plenty of people looked queerer than I did.
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What I hate is the thought of being under a man's thumb, I had told Doctor Nolan. A man doesn't have a worry in the world, while I've got a baby hanging over my head like a big stick, to keep me in line.
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And the danger is that in this move toward new horizons and far directions, that I may lose what I have now, and not find anything except loneliness
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The claw of the magnolia, drunk on its own scents, asks nothing of life.
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I said: I must remember this, being small.
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Don't let the wicked city get you down.
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There is a certain clinical satisfaction in seeing just how bad things can get.
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Please don’t expect me to always be good and kind and loving. There are times when I will be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand.
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The blood of love welled up in my heart with a slow pain.
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I think the coming of spring, the stars overhead, the first snowfall and so on are gifts for a child, a young poet.
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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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Life was not to be sitting in hot amorphic leisure in my backyard idly writing or not writing, as the spirit moved me. It was, instead, running madly, in a crowded schedule, in a squirrel cage of busy people. Working, living, dancing, dreaming, talking, kissing- singing, laughing, learning.
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Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.
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I knew you'd decide to be all right again.
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