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With that strange knowing that comes over me, like a clairvoyance, I know that I am sure of myself and my enormous and alarmingly timeless love for you which will always be.
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
Sure
Comes
Always
Alarmingly
Love
Clairvoyance
Like
Timeless
Enormous
Strange
Knowing
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The trouble was, I had been inadequate all along, I simply hadn't thought about it.
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When they asked me what I wanted to be I said I didn't know.
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I am solitary as grass. What is it I miss? Shall I ever find it, whatever it is?
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I saw the years of my life spaced along a road in the form of telephone poles threaded together by wires. I counted one, two, three... nineteen telephone poles, and then the wires dangled into space, and try as I would, I couldn't see a single pole beyond the nineteenth.
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I wanted change and excitement and to shoot off in all directions myself, like the colored arrows from a Fourth of July rocket.
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The box is only temporary.
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If I didn’t think, I’d be much happier.
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Sunday-the doctor's paradise! Doctors at country clubs, doctors at the seaside, doctors with mistresses, doctors with wives, doctors in church, doctors in yachts, doctors everywhere resolutely being people, not doctors.
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I had always imagined myself hitching up on to my elbows on the delivery table after it was all over - dead white, of course, with no makeup and from the awful ordeal, but smiling and radiant, with my hair down to my waist, and reaching out for my first little squirmy child and saying its name, whatever it was.
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So learn about life. Cut yourself a big slice with the silver server, a big slice of pie. Open your eyes. Let life happen.
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Clouds pass and disperse. Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables? Is it for such I agitate my heart?
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I am myself. That is not enough.
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I like people too much or not at all.
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I like people too much or not at all. I've got to go down deep, to fall into people, to really know them.
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Oh what a poet I will flay myself into.
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I wanted to do everything once and for all and be through with it.
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The claw of the magnolia, drunk on its own scents, asks nothing of life.
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I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead I lift my eyes and all is born again.
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I felt wise and cynical as all hell.
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I am made, crudely, for success.
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