Quote

So learn about life. Cut yourself a big slice with the silver server, a big slice of pie. Open your eyes. Let life happen.

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
Life
Cutting
Happen
Open
Eyes
Eye
Server
Bigs
Slice
Learn
Pie
Happens
Silver

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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 think I am worthwhile just because I have optical nerves and can try to put down what they perceive. What a fool!
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It's the living, the eating, the sleeping that everyone needs. Ideas don't matter so much after all. My three best friends are Catholic. I can't see their beliefs, but I can see the things they love to do on earth. When you come right down to it, I do believe in the freedom of the individual.
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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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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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Is anyone anywhere happy?
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I know the bottom, she says. I know it with my great tap root: It is what you fear. I do not fear it: I have been there.
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I am what I feel and think and do.
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I wanted to crawl in between those black lines of print, the way you crawl through a fence, and go to sleep under that beautiful big green fig-tree.
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When you give someone your whole heart and he doesn't want it, you cannot take it back. It's gone forever.
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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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After all, we are nothing more or less than we choose to reveal.
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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.
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Winter is for women The woman still at her knitting, At the cradle of Spanish walnut, Her body a bulb in the cold and too dumb to think.
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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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I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting in between.
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One thing, I try to be honest. And what is revealed is often rather hideously unflattering.
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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 think I may well be a Jew.
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If there's anything I look down on, it's a man in a blue outfit.
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