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Read widely of others' experiences, even if it'd be more comfortable to snuggle back in the comforting cotton-wool of blissful ignorance.

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
Others
Widely
Back
Cotton
Even
Comforting
Life
Experiences
Ignorance
Comfortable
Snuggle
Read
Blissful
Inspirational
Wool

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Good to know that if I ever need attention all I have to do is die.
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Eternity bores me, I never wanted it.
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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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Love set you going like a fat gold watch. The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry Took its place among the elements.
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A fierce brief fusion which dreamers call real, and realists, an illusion an insight like the flight of birds.
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I said: I must remember this, being small.
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Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.
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I dream too much, work too little.
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Only I wasn't steering anything, not even myself.
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I opened the door and blinked out into the bright hall. I had the impression it wasn't night and it wasn't day, but some lurid third interval that had suddenly slipped between them and would never end.
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Every day is precious and I feel infinitely sad at this time melting away from me.
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I have a violence in me that is hot as death-blood.
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I wish you’d find the exit out of my head.
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I think my poems immediately come out of the sensuous and emotional experiences I have, but I must say I cannot sympathise with these cries from the heart that are informed by nothing except a needle or a knife, or whatever it is.
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Is there no way out of the mind?
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Doing all the little tricky things it takes to grow up, step by step, into an anxious and unsettling world.
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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.
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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.
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I buried my head under the darkness of the pillow and pretended it was night. I couldn't see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.
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I think I am worthwhile just because I have optical nerves and can try to put down what they perceive. What a fool!
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