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The woman is perfected. Her dead Body wears the smile of accomplishment.

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
Wears
Accomplishment
Suicide
Smile
Dead
Woman
Body
Perfected

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They had to call and call And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
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I do not love I do not love anybody except myself. That is a rather shocking thing to admit.
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I must say that I am not very genteel and I feel that gentility has a stranglehold: the neatness, the wonderful tidiness, which is so evident everywhere in England is perhaps more dangerous than it would appear on the surface.
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If I didn’t think, I’d be much happier.
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The silence drew off, baring the pebbles and shells and all the tatty wreckage of my life.
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Is anyone anywhere happy?
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I feel occasionally my skull will crack, fatigue is continuous - I only go from less exhausted to more exhausted & back again.
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The claw of the magnolia, drunk on its own scents, asks nothing of life.
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Every day is precious and I feel infinitely sad at this time melting away from me.
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There I went again, building up a glamorous picture of a man who would love me passionately the minute he met me, and all out of a few prosy nothings.
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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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See, the darkness is leaking from the cracks. I cannot contain it. I cannot contain my life.
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Why do we electrocute men for murdering an individual and then pin a purple heart on them for mass slaughter of someone arbitrarily labeled “enemy?
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