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If I rest, if I think inward, I go mad.

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
Think
Thinking
Inward
Mad
Rest

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Love, love, I have hung our cave with roses.
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I've eaten a bag of Green apples. Boarded the train, there's no getting off
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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 have let things slip, a thirty-year~old cargo boat Stubbornly hanging on to my name and address.
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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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I dream too much, work too little.
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Oh what a poet I will flay myself into.
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I couldn’t see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.
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The sickness rolled through me in great waves. After each wave it would fade away and leave me limp as a wet leaf and shivering all over and then I would feel it rising up in me again, and the glittering white torture chamber tiles under my feet and over my head and all four sides closed in and squeezed me to pieces.
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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.
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I wanted to do everything once and for all and be through with it.
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The man creates a pseudonym and hides behind it like a worm
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August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.
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Jealousy can open the blood, it can make black roses.
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