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If I didn’t think, I’d be much happier.
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
Happiness
Happy
Didn
Much
Think
Thinking
Happier
Novelists
More quotes by Sylvia Plath
For the few little successes I may seem to have, there are acres of misgivings and self-doubt.
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I keep wanting to crawl back into the womb.
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What is my life for and what am I going to do with it? I don't know and I'm afraid.
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The hardest thing, I think, is to live richly in the present, without letting it be tainted & spoiled out of fear for the future or regret for a badly-managed past.
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And if you have no past or future which, after all, is all that the present is made of, why then you may as well dispose of the empty shell of present and commit suicide.
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The box is only temporary.
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They had to call and call And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
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Now I am silent, hate Up to my neck, Thick, thick. I do not speak.
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Over coffee and orange juice the embryonic suicide brightens visibly.
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…beating time along the edge of thought.
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Why can’t I try on different lives, like dresses, to see which fits best and is more becoming?
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Winter is for women The woman still at her knitting, At the cradle of Spanish walnut, Her body a bulb in the cold and too dumb to think.
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I hadn't, at the last moment, felt like washing off the two diagonal lines of dried blood that marked my cheeks. They seemed touching, and rather spectacular, and I thought I would carry them around with me, like the relic of a dead lover, till they wore off of their own accord.
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If I rest, if I think inward, I go mad.
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There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them.
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I am so hungry for a big smashing creative burgeoning burdened love.
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But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defensless that I couldn't do it. It was as if what I wanted to kill wasn't in that skin or the thin blue pulse that jumped under my thumb, but somewhere else, deeper, more secret, and a whole lot harder to get.
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I couldn’t see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.
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And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.
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I may have made a straight A in physics, but I was panic-struck. Physics made me sick the whole time I learned it.
Sylvia Plath