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The moon has nothing to be sad about, Staring from her hood of bone. She is used to this sort of thing. Her blacks crackle and drag.

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
Bones
Moon
Darkness
Crackle
Sort
Blacks
Used
Hood
Nothing
Bone
Thing
Drag
Staring

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we walk the plank with strangers.
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I felt like a racehorse in a world without racetracks.
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It is awful to want to go away and to want to go nowhere.
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Sunday-the doctor's paradise! Doctors at country clubs, doctors at the seaside, doctors with mistresses, doctors with wives, doctors in church, doctors in yachts, doctors everywhere resolutely being people, not doctors.
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How frail the human heart must be - a mirrored pool of thought.
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What is my life for and what am I going to do with it? I don't know and I'm afraid.
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And I identify too closely with my reading, with my writing.
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It is so much safer not to feel, not to let the world touch me.
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A fierce brief fusion which dreamers call real, and realists, an illusion an insight like the flight of birds.
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