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I need some older, wiser being to cry to. I talk to God, but the sky is empty, and Orion walks by and doesn't speak.

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
Speak
Orion
Doesn
Wiser
Need
Sky
Needs
Cry
Older
Empty
Walks
Talk

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..I fancied you'd return the way you said, But I grow old and I forget your name. (I think I made you up inside my head.) I should have loved a thunderbird instead At least when spring comes they roar back again. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.)
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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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because wherever I sat—on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok—I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.
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What I want back is what I was Before the bed, before the knife, Before the brooch-pin and the salve Fixed me in this parenthesis Horses fluent in the wind, A place, a time gone out of mind.
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And I sit here without identity: faceless. My head aches.
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You have to be able to make a real creative life for Yourself, before you can expect anyone Else to provide one ready-made for you.
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I had hoped, at my departure, I would feel sure and knowledgeable about everything that lay ahead -- after all, I had been analyzed. Instead, all I could see were question marks.
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We stayed at home to write, to consolidate our outstretched selves.
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I think the coming of spring, the stars overhead, the first snowfall and so on are gifts for a child, a young poet.
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Nothing is real except the present, and already, I feel the weight of centuries smothering me. Some girl a hundred years ago once lived as I do. And she is dead. I am the present, but I know I, too, will pass. The high moment, the burning flash, come and are gone, continuous quicksand. And I don’t want to die.
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Love, love, I have hung our cave with roses.
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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 made, crudely, for success.
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There is more than one good way to drown.
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To learn and think to think and live to live and learn: this always, with new insight, new understanding, and new love.
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My life is a discipline, a prison: I live for my own work, without which I am nothing.
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Ash, ash —- You poke and stir. Flesh, bone, there is nothing there—— A cake of soap, A wedding ring, A gold filling. Herr God, Herr Lucifer Beware Beware. Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air.
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And I identify too closely with my reading, with my writing.
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I have the one person I could ever love in this world. Now I must work to be a person worthy of that.
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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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