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I have no preconceptions. Whatever I see, I swallow immediately. Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike. I am not cruel, only truthful.

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
Truthful
Cruel
Dislike
Immediately
Whatever
Love
Preconceptions
Swallow

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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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I think I am worthwhile just because I have optical nerves and can try to put down what they perceive. What a fool!
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I want to become acutely aware of all I've taken for granted.
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I can't think logically about who I am or where I am going. I have been very ecstatic, horribly depressed, shocked, elated, enlightened, and enervated.
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The claw of the magnolia, drunk on its own scents, asks nothing of life.
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If only I knew what I wanted I could try to see about getting it.
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What did my arms do before they held you?
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It never occurred to me to say no.
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I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.
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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 psychiatrist is the god of our age. But they cost money.
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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 love life. But it is hard and I have so much, so very much to learn.
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I suppose if I gave myself the chance I could be an alcoholic.
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You are the one. Solid the spaces lean on, envious. You are the baby in the barn.
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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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Not easy to state the change you made. If I'm alive now, I was dead, Though, like a stone, unbothered by it.
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There I went again, building up a glamorous picture of a man who would love me passionately the minute he met me, and all out of a few prosy nothings.
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I want to kill myself, to escape from responsiblity, to crawl abjectly back into the womb.
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