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The moon, also, is merciless: she would drag me Cruelly, being barren. Her radiance scathes me. Or perhaps I have caught her.
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
Drag
Cruelty
Caught
Moon
Perhaps
Cruelly
Light
Merciless
Also
Radiance
Would
Barren
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A million years of evolution, Eric said bitterly, and what are we? Animals.
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I started adding up all the things I couldn't do.
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God, it was good to let go, let the tight mask fall off, and the bewildered, chaotic fragments pour out. It was the purge, the catharsis.
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Good to know that if I ever need attention all I have to do is die.
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If I didn’t think, I’d be much happier.
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I suppose if I gave myself the chance I could be an alcoholic.
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Maybe forgetfulness, like a kind snow, should numb and cover them. But they were a part of me. They were my landscape.
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God has to remind us this isn't heaven by a long shot, so he increases the radios and lethal flies.
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That’s one of the reasons I never wanted to get married. The last thing I wanted was infinite security and to be the place an arrow shoots off from. I wanted change and excitement and to shoot off in all directions myself, like the colored arrows from a Fourth of July rocket.
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I must not be selfless: develop a sense of self. A solidness that can't be attacked.
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And the danger is that in this move toward new horizons and far directions, that I may lose what I have now, and not find anything except loneliness
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They would grow old. They would forget me.
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I could feel the winter shaking my bones and banging my teeth together.
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