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Your room is not your prison. You are.
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
Room
Rooms
Prison
More quotes by Sylvia Plath
I wanted to be where nobody I knew could ever come.
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Don't let the wicked city get you down.
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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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I said: I must remember this, being small.
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So much working, reading, thinking, living to do! A lifetime is not long enough.
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…beating time along the edge of thought.
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What I cannot forgive is dishonesty - and no matter what, or how hard, I would rather know the truth of which I today had such a clear & devastating vision from his mouth than hear foul evasions, blurrings and rattiness.
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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.
Sylvia Plath
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.
Sylvia Plath
August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.
Sylvia Plath
Go out and do something. It isn’t your room that’s a prison, it’s yourself.
Sylvia Plath
The woman is perfected. Her dead Body wears the smile of accomplishment.
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I have the one person I could ever love in this world. Now I must work to be a person worthy of that.
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It is a feeling that no matter what the ideas or conduct of others, there is a unique rightness and beauty to life which can be shared in openness, in wind and sunlight, with a fellow human being who believes in the same basic principles.
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One thing, I try to be honest. And what is revealed is often rather hideously unflattering.
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I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery—air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, This is what it is to be happy.
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There is a charge For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge For the hearing of my heart - It really goes. And there is a charge, a very large charge, For a word or a touch Or a bit of blood Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
Sylvia Plath
At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do.
Sylvia Plath
Can you understand? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little? For all my despair, for all my ideals, for all that - I love life. But it is hard, and I have so much - so very much to learn.
Sylvia Plath
I want to kill myself, to escape from responsiblity, to crawl abjectly back into the womb.
Sylvia Plath