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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
Cruel
Dislike
Immediately
Whatever
Love
Preconceptions
Swallow
Truthful

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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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I don’t care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual.
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A dispassionate white sun shone at the summit of the sky. I wanted to hone myself on it till I grew saintly and thin and essential as the blade of a knife.
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The hardest thing, I think, is to live richly in the present, without letting it be tainted & spoiled out of fear for the future or regret for a badly-managed past.
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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.
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I am myself. That is not enough.
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The slime of all my yesterdays rots in the hollow of my skull.
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I could feel the winter shaking my bones and banging my teeth together.
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I like people too much or not at all. I've got to go down deep, to fall into people, to really know them.
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Some things are hard to write about. After something happens to you, you go to write it down, and either you over dramatize it, or underplay it, exaggerate the wrong parts or ignore the important ones. At any rate, you never write it quite the way you want to.
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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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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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It is best to meet in a cul-de-sac, A palace of velvet With windows of mirrors. There one is safe, There are no family photographs, No rings through the nose, no cries.
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I do not fear it: I have been there.
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The moon, too, abases her subjects, but in the daytime she is ridiculous. Your dissatisfactions, on the other hand, arrive through the mailslot with loving regularity, white and blank, expansive as carbon monoxide. No day is safe from news of you, walking about in Africa maybe, but thinking of me.
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What is so real as the cry of a child?
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I've eaten a bag of Green apples. Boarded the train, there's no getting off
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But life is long. And it is the long run that balances the short flare of interest and passion.
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If you expect nothing from anybody, you’re never disappointed.
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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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