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I am so hungry for a big smashing creative burgeoning burdened love.

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
Burdened
Smashing
Hungry
Creative
Bigs
Inspirational
Love
Burgeoning

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Then I decided I would spend the summer writing a novel. That would fix a lot of people.
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Aloneness and selfness are too important to betray for company.
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I saw the years of my life spaced along a road in the form of telephone poles threaded together by wires. I counted one, two, three... nineteen telephone poles, and then the wires dangled into space, and try as I would, I couldn't see a single pole beyond the nineteenth.
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I need the reality of other people, work, to fulfill myself. Must never become a mere mother and housewife.
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If I have a dry spell ... I wait and live harder, eyes, ears, and heart open, and when the productive time comes, it is that much richer.
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we walk the plank with strangers.
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I keep wanting to crawl back into the womb.
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I collected men with interesting names. I already knew a Socrates. He was tall and ugly and intellectual and the son of some big Greek movie producer in Hollywood, but also a Catholic, which ruined it for both of us.
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I've got to have something. I want to stop it all, the whole monumental grotesque joke, before it's too late. But writing poems and letters doesn't seem to do much good.
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Every woman adores a Fascist, The boot in the face, the brute Brute heart of a brute like you.
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And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.
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I couldn’t see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.
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I am but one more drop in the great sea of matter, defined, with the ability to realize my existence.
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I felt the first man I slept with must be intelligent, so I could respect him.
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And there's the fallacy of existence: the idea that one could be happy forever and age with a given situation or series of accomplishments.
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…beating time along the edge of thought.
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If only I knew what I wanted I could try to see about getting it.
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The slime of all my yesterdays rots in the hollow of my skull.
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…'It always has to end, doesn't it? We always have to separate.' 'Yes,' I said. He was insistent, 'But it doesn't always have to be that way. We could be together some day for always.' 'Oh, no,' I told him, wondering if he knew it was all over. 'We keep running till we die. We separate, get further apart, till we are dead.
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I wonder why I don't go to bed and go to sleep. But then it would be tomorrow, so I decide that no matter how tired, no matter how incoherent I am, I can skip on hour more of sleep and live.
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