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A psychiatrist is the god of our age. But they cost money.
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
Psychiatrist
Cost
Age
Money
More quotes by Sylvia Plath
But life is long. And it is the long run that balances the short flare of interest and passion.
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If they substituted the word 'Lust' for 'Love' in the popular songs it would come nearer the truth.
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I must get my soul back from you I am killing my flesh without it.
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Some pale, hueless flicker of sensitivity is in me. God, must I lose it in cooking scrambled eggs for a man.
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A skeptic, I would ask for consistency first of all.
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Yes, I was infatuated with you: I am still. No one has ever heightened such a keen capacity of physical sensation in me. I cut you out because I couldn't stand being a passing fancy. Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams. And you weren't having any of those.
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They had to call and call And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
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As from a star I saw, coldly and soberly, the separateness of everything. I felt the wall of my skin I am I. That stone is a stone. My beautiful fusion with the things of this world was over.
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There is more than one good way to drown.
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Let me sit in a flowerpot, The spiders won't notice. My heart is a stopped geranium.
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I must be lean & write & make worlds beside this to live in.
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Miracles occur, If you dare to call those spasmodic Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait's begun again, The long wait for the angel, For that rare, random descent.
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It was sometime in October she had long ago lost track of all the days and it really didn’t matter because one was like another and there were no nights to separate them because she never slept any more.
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A black-sharded lady keeps me in a parrot cage.
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…I hate myself for not being able to go downstairs naturally and seek comfort in numbers. I hate myself for having to sit here and be torn between I know not what within me.
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I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted to lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty. How free it is, you have no idea how free.
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If I rest, if I think inward, I go mad.
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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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I am disabused of all faith, and see too clearly.
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So much working, reading, thinking, living to do! A lifetime is not long enough.
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