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I am what I feel and think and do.

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
Feels
Think
Thinking
Feel

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Maybe forgetfulness, like a kind snow, should numb and cover them. But they were a part of me. They were my landscape.
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I'm happier writing about doctors than I would have been being one.
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There is more than one good way to drown.
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I felt the mask crumple, the great poisonous store of corrosive ashes begin to spew out of my mouth.
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But everybody has exactly the same smiling frightened face, with the look that says: I'm important. If you only get to know me, you will see how important I am. Look into my eyes. Kiss me, and you will see how important I am.
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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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The silence drew off, baring the pebbles and shells and all the tatty wreckage of my life.
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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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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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I have this demon who wants me to run away screaming if I am going to be flawed, fallible. It wants me to think I'm so good I must be perfect. Or nothing. I am, on the contrary, something: a being who gets tired, has shyness to fight, has more trouble than most facing people easily.
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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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Jealousy can open the blood, it can make black roses.
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I have never found anybody who could stand to accept the daily demonstrative love I feel in me, and give back as good as I give.
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If only I knew what I wanted I could try to see about getting it.
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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 never feel so much myself as when I'm in a hot bath.
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I want to become acutely aware of all I've taken for granted.
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That’s one of the reasons I never wanted to get married. The last thing I wanted was infinite security and to be the place an arrow shoots off from. 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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I am sure there are things that can't be cured by a good bath but I can't think of one.
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I wish you’d find the exit out of my head.
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