Quote

Outcast on a cold star, unable to feel anything but an awful helpless numbness. I look down into the warm, earthy world. Into a nest of lovers' beds, baby cribs, meal tables, all the solid commerce of life in this earth, and feel apart, enclosed in a wall of glass.

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
World
Stars
Awful
Commerce
Beds
Earth
Bed
Solid
Outcast
Anything
Lovers
Emptiness
Nest
Look
Warm
Meals
Detachment
Looks
Star
Glass
Nests
Cribs
Feel
Baby
Glasses
Meal
Earthy
Feels
Wall
Tables
Unable
Enclosed
Life
Cold
Apart
Helpless
Numbness

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Then I thought, No, I broke it myself. I broke it on purpose to pay myself back for being such a heel.
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Nothing is real except the present, and already, I feel the weight of centuries smothering me. Some girl a hundred years ago once lived as I do. And she is dead. I am the present, but I know I, too, will pass. The high moment, the burning flash, come and are gone, continuous quicksand. And I don’t want to die.
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I lay in that tub on the seventeenth floor of this hotel for-women-only, high up over the jazz and push of New York, for near unto an hour, and I felt myself growing pure again. I don't believe in baptism or the waters of Jordan or anything like that, but I guess I feel about a hot bath the way those religious people feel about holy water.
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Love, love, I have hung our cave with roses.
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because wherever I sat—on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok—I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.
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I wanted to do everything once and for all and be through with it.
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I was my own woman. The next step was to find the proper sort of man.
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Joy:show joy & enjoy: then others will be joyful.
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There is a certain clinical satisfaction in seeing just how bad things can get.
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I need not to be more with others, but to be more & more deeply, richly alone. Recreating worlds.
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The sky leans on me, me, the one upright among all horizontals.
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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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Miracles occur, If you dare to call those spasmodic Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait's begun again, The long wait for the angel, For that rare, random descent.
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I feel occasionally my skull will crack, fatigue is continuous - I only go from less exhausted to more exhausted & back again.
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God, how I ricochet between certainties and doubts.
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I have been holding a dialogue with myself and girding myself to stand fast without running.
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I decided I would put off the novel until I had gone to Europe and had a lover, and that I would never learn a word of shorthand. If I never learned shorthand I would never have to use it.
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Sometimes I nursed starfish alive in jam jars of seawater and watched them grow back lost arms. On this day, this awful birthday of otherness, my rival, somebody else, I flung the starfish against a stone. Let it perish.
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