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I feel terribly vulnerable and 'not-myself' when I'm not writing.

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
Terribly
Vulnerable
Feel
Feels
Writing

More quotes by Sylvia Plath

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I am accused. I dream of massacres. I am a garden of black and red agonies. I drink them, Hating myself, hating and fearing. And now the world conceives Its end and runs toward it, arms held out in love.
Sylvia Plath
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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.
Sylvia Plath
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But writing poems and letters doesn't seem to do much good.
Sylvia Plath
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You smile. No, it is not fatal.
Sylvia Plath
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I hadn't, at the last moment, felt like washing off the two diagonal lines of dried blood that marked my cheeks. They seemed touching, and rather spectacular, and I thought I would carry them around with me, like the relic of a dead lover, till they wore off of their own accord.
Sylvia Plath
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Every woman adores a Fascist, The boot in the face, the brute Brute heart of a brute like you.
Sylvia Plath
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I have taken a pill to kill The thin Papery feeling.
Sylvia Plath
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Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.
Sylvia Plath
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I never feel so much myself as when I'm in a hot bath.
Sylvia Plath
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I do not fear it: I have been there.
Sylvia Plath
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I think my poems immediately come out of the sensuous and emotional experiences I have, but I must say I cannot sympathise with these cries from the heart that are informed by nothing except a needle or a knife, or whatever it is.
Sylvia Plath
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Ash, ash —- You poke and stir. Flesh, bone, there is nothing there—— A cake of soap, A wedding ring, A gold filling. Herr God, Herr Lucifer Beware Beware. Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air.
Sylvia Plath
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Doing all the little tricky things it takes to grow up, step by step, into an anxious and unsettling world.
Sylvia Plath
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I think the coming of spring, the stars overhead, the first snowfall and so on are gifts for a child, a young poet.
Sylvia Plath
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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.
Sylvia Plath
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Oh what a poet I will flay myself into.
Sylvia Plath
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You are the one. Solid the spaces lean on, envious. You are the baby in the barn.
Sylvia Plath
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I must get my soul back from you I am killing my flesh without it.
Sylvia Plath
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And if you have no past or future which, after all, is all that the present is made of, why then you may as well dispose of the empty shell of present and commit suicide.
Sylvia Plath
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Why can’t I try on different lives, like dresses, to see which fits best and is more becoming?
Sylvia Plath