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A million years of evolution, Eric said bitterly, and what are we? Animals.
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
Years
Bitterly
Eric
Million
Animals
Evolution
Millions
Animal
More quotes by Sylvia Plath
Secretly, in studies and attics and schoolrooms all over America, people must be writing.
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I know the bottom, she says. I know it with my great tap root: It is what you fear. I do not fear it: I have been there.
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I lean to you, numb as a fossil. Tell me I'm here.
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I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am.
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The only thing I could think of was turkey neck and turkey gizzards and I felt very depressed.
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How we need another soul to cling to.
Sylvia Plath
My worst habit is my fear & my destructive rationalizing.
Sylvia Plath
Doing all the little tricky things it takes to grow up, step by step, into an anxious and unsettling world.
Sylvia Plath
Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams.
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I must not be selfless: develop a sense of self. A solidness that can't be attacked.
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Only I wasn't steering anything, not even myself.
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...we shall board our imagined ship and wildly sail among sacred islands of the mad till death shatters the fabulous stars and makes us real.
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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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Some pale, hueless flicker of sensitivity is in me. God, must I lose it in cooking scrambled eggs for a man.
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I wonder about all the roads not taken and am moved to quote Frost...but won't. It is sad to be able only to mouth other poets. I want someone to mouth me.
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Don't let the wicked city get you down.
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As a poet I would say everything should be able to come into a poem but I can't put toothbrushes in a poem. I really can't.
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If I rest, if I think inward, I go mad.
Sylvia Plath
Look at that ugly dead mask here and do not forget it. It is a chalk mask with dead dry poison behind it, like the death angel. It is what I was this fall, and what I never want to be again. The pouting disconsolate mouth, the flat, bored, numb, expressionless eyes: symptoms of the foul decay within.
Sylvia Plath
I am still raw. I say I may be back. You know what lies are for. Even in your Zen heaven we shan't meet.
Sylvia Plath
