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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.

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
Situation
Forever
Age
Happy
Accomplishments
Idea
Fallacy
Inspirational
Accomplishment
Given
Series
Ideas
Existence

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The man creates a pseudonym and hides behind it like a worm
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I talk to God but the sky is empty.
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I want to kill myself, to escape from responsiblity, to crawl abjectly back into the womb.
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I have to live my life, and it is the only one I’ll ever have.
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There I went again, building up a glamorous picture of a man who would love me passionately the minute he met me, and all out of a few prosy nothings.
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I wanted to do everything once and for all and be through with it.
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And I identify too closely with my reading, with my writing.
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If you pluck out my heart To find what makes it move, You’ll halt the clock That syncopates our love.
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Oh what a poet I will flay myself into.
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All the heat and fear had purged itself. I felt surprisingly at peace. The bell jar hung suspended a few feet above my head. I was open to the circulating air.
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O heart, such disorganization!
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What I want back is what I was Before the bed, before the knife, Before the brooch-pin and the salve Fixed me in this parenthesis Horses fluent in the wind, A place, a time gone out of mind.
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One thing, I try to be honest. And what is revealed is often rather hideously unflattering.
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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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My life is a discipline, a prison: I live for my own work, without which I am nothing.
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The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence.
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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 am still raw. I say I may be back. You know what lies are for. Even in your Zen heaven we shan't meet.
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Is there no way out of the mind?
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With me, the present is forever, and forever is always shifting, flowing, melting. This second is life. And when it is gone it is dead. But you can't start over with each new second. You have to judge by what is dead. It's like quicksand... hopeless from the start.
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