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I may have made a straight A in physics, but I was panic-struck. Physics made me sick the whole time I learned it.
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
Physics
Straight
Sick
Learned
May
Whole
Made
Struck
Time
Panic
More quotes by Sylvia Plath
At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do.
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Ash, ash —- You poke and stir. Flesh, bone, there is nothing there—— A cake of soap, A wedding ring, A gold filling. Herr God, Herr Lucifer Beware Beware. Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air.
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How we need another soul to cling to.
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Oh what a poet I will flay myself into.
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I am dead to them, even though I once flowered.
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I felt wise and cynical as all hell.
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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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Why can’t I try on different lives, like dresses, to see which fits best and is more becoming?
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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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…beating time along the edge of thought.
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Not being perfect hurts.
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Hour by hour, day by day, life becomes possible.
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Frustrated? Yes. Why? Because it is impossible for me to be God — or the universal woman-and-man — or anything much. I am what I feel and think and do. I want to express my being as fully as I can because I somewhere picked up the idea that I could justify my being alive that way.
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Then I decided I would spend the summer writing a novel. That would fix a lot of people.
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What horrifies me most is the idea of being useless: well-educated, brilliantly promising, and fading out into an indifferent middle age.
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I must get my soul back from you I am killing my flesh without it.
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I wish you’d find the exit out of my head.
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A dispassionate white sun shone at the summit of the sky. I wanted to hone myself on it till I grew saintly and thin and essential as the blade of a knife.
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The moon has nothing to be sad about, Staring from her hood of bone. She is used to this sort of thing. Her blacks crackle and drag.
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What a man wants is a mate and what a woman wants is infinite security,’ and, ‘What a man is is an arrow into the future and a what a woman is is the place the arrow shoots off from.
Sylvia Plath
