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There is a certain clinical satisfaction in seeing just how bad things can get.
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
Clinical
Satisfaction
Seeing
Certain
Things
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Dying Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well.
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I knew you'd decide to be all right again.
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You have to be able to make a real creative life for Yourself, before you can expect anyone Else to provide one ready-made for you.
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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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Now I am silent, hate Up to my neck, Thick, thick. I do not speak.
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To learn and think to think and live to live and learn: this always, with new insight, new understanding, and new love.
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I like you, but not too much. I don’t want to like anybody too much.
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I was my own woman. The next step was to find the proper sort of man.
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Sometimes I feel so stupid and dull and uncreative that I am amazed when people tell me differently.
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If I was going to fall, I would hang on to my small comforts, at least, for as long as I possibly could.
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If only a group of people were more important to me than the idea of a Novel, I might begin a novel.
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Poetry, I feel, is a tyrannical discipline. You've got to go so far, so fast, in such a small space, that you've got to burn away all the peripherals.
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I would say everything should be able to come into a poem, but I can't put toothbrushes into a poem, I really can't!
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I started adding up all the things I couldn't do.
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What I fear most, I think, is the death of the imagination.
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No, I won't try to escape myself by losing myself in artificial chatter 'Did you have a nice vacation?' 'Oh, yes, and you?' I'll stay here and try to pin that loneliness down.
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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 flushed and warm. I think I may be enormous, I am so stupidly happy, My wellingtons Squelching and squelching through the beautiful red.
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Love, love, I have hung our cave with roses.
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Sometimes I feel like I'm not solid. I'm hollow. There's nothing behind my eyes. I'm a negative of a person. All I want is blackness, blackness and silence.
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