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Go out and do something. It isn’t your room that’s a prison, it’s yourself.
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
Prison
Room
Rooms
Something
More quotes by Sylvia Plath
I am too pure for you or anyone.
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If only I knew what I wanted I could try to see about getting it.
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You walked in, laughing, tears welling confused, mingling in your throat. How can you be so many women to so many people, oh you strange girl?
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Your room is not your prison. You are.
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We know a thing by its opposite corollary hot by having experienced cold good by having decided what is bad love by hate.
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I felt very low. I had been unmasked only that morning by Jay Cee herself, and I felt now that all the uncomfortable suspicions I had about myself were coming true. After nineteen years of running after good marks and prizes and grants of one sort and another, I was letting up, slowing down, dropping clean out of race.
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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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If you pluck out my heart To find what makes it move, You’ll halt the clock That syncopates our love.
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If I was going to fall, I would hang on to my small comforts, at least, for as long as I possibly could.
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I said: I must remember this, being small.
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I think I may well be a Jew.
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The only reason I remembered this play was because it had a mad person in it, and everything I had ever read about mad people stuck in my mind, while everything else flew out.
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I am what I feel and think and do.
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To annihilate the world by annihilation of oneself is the deluded height of desperate egoism.
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It seemed silly to wash one day when I would only have to wash again the next. It made me tired just to think of it.
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I suppose if I gave myself the chance I could be an alcoholic.
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I have taken a pill to kill The thin Papery feeling.
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But life is long. And it is the long run that balances the short flare of interest and passion.
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If I didn’t think, I’d be much happier.
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I feel terribly vulnerable and 'not-myself' when I'm not writing.
Sylvia Plath