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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
Think
Thinking
Feel
Feels

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A man's world is different from a woman's world and a man's emotions are different from a woman's emotions and only marriage can bring the two different sets of emotions together properly.
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I felt dumb and subdued. Every time I tried to concentrate, my mind glided off, like a skater, into a large empty space, and pirouetted there, absently.
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I lay in that tub on the seventeenth floor of this hotel for-women-only, high up over the jazz and push of New York, for near unto an hour, and I felt myself growing pure again. I don't believe in baptism or the waters of Jordan or anything like that, but I guess I feel about a hot bath the way those religious people feel about holy water.
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I think that as far as language goes I'm an American, I'm afraid, my accent is American, my way of talk is an American way of talk, I'm an old-fashioned American. That's probably one of the reasons why I'm in England now and why I'll always stay in England.
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We know a thing by its opposite corollary hot by having experienced cold good by having decided what is bad love by hate.
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I need the reality of other people, work, to fulfill myself. Must never become a mere mother and housewife.
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I tried to speak in a cool, calm way, but the zombie rose up in my throat and choked me off.
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I love life. But it is hard and I have so much, so very much to learn.
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The silence between us was so profound I thought part of it must be my fault.
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How frail the human heart must be - a mirrored pool of thought.
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They would grow old. They would forget me.
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Then I thought, No, I broke it myself. I broke it on purpose to pay myself back for being such a heel.
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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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What I fear most, I think, is the death of the imagination.
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we walk the plank with strangers.
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Over coffee and orange juice the embryonic suicide brightens visibly.
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A black-sharded lady keeps me in a parrot cage.
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I suppose if I gave myself the chance I could be an alcoholic.
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Every woman adores a Fascist, The boot in the face, the brute Brute heart of a brute like you.
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Even amidst fierce flames the golden lotus can be planted.
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