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I've eaten a bag of Green apples. Boarded the train, there's no getting off

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
Train
Green
Getting
Boarded
Eaten
Bags
Apples

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So much working, reading, thinking, living to do! A lifetime is not long enough.
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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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I may have made a straight A in physics, but I was panic-struck. Physics made me sick the whole time I learned it.
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If you expect nothing from anybody, you’re never disappointed.
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A fierce brief fusion which dreamers call real, and realists, an illusion an insight like the flight of birds.
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Please don’t expect me to always be good and kind and loving. There are times when I will be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand.
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Hour by hour, day by day, life becomes possible.
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I could feel the winter shaking my bones and banging my teeth together.
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It seemed silly to wash one day when I would only have to wash again the next. It made me tired just to think of it.
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Clouds pass and disperse. Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables? Is it for such I agitate my heart?
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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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When you give someone your whole heart and he doesn't want it, you cannot take it back. It's gone forever.
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As I lay on my back in bed staring up at the blank, white ceiling the stillness seemed to grow bigger and bigger until I felt my eardrums would burst with it.
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And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.
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I hurl my heart to halt his pace.
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The claw of the magnolia, drunk on its own scents, asks nothing of life.
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As a poet I would say everything should be able to come into a poem but I can't put toothbrushes in a poem. I really can't.
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If I didn’t think, I’d be much happier.
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