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I want, I think, to be omniscient. I think I would like to call myself the girl who wanted to be God. Yet if I were not in this body where would I be-perhaps I am destined to be classified and qualified. But, oh, I cry out against it.

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
Call
Girl
Body
Omniscient
Wanted
Classified
Would
Qualified
Think
Destined
Thinking
Cry
Like
Perhaps

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Over coffee and orange juice the embryonic suicide brightens visibly.
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I am made, crudely, for success.
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I've eaten a bag of Green apples. Boarded the train, there's no getting off
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Whenever I'm sad I'm going to die, or so nervous I can't sleep, or in love with somebody I won't be seeing for a week, I slump down just so far and then I say: 'I'll go take a hot bath.
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If they substituted the word 'Lust' for 'Love' in the popular songs it would come nearer the truth.
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Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams.
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I was my own woman. The next step was to find the proper sort of man.
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The sky leans on me, me, the one upright among all horizontals.
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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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You smile. No, it is not fatal.
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Clouds pass and disperse. Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables? Is it for such I agitate my heart?
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I could never be a complete scholar or a complete housewife ora completewriter: Imustcombinea little of all, and thereby be imperfect in all.
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But everybody has exactly the same smiling frightened face, with the look that says: I'm important. If you only get to know me, you will see how important I am. Look into my eyes. Kiss me, and you will see how important I am.
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But writing poems and letters doesn't seem to do much good.
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The only thing I could think of was turkey neck and turkey gizzards and I felt very depressed.
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Go out and do something. It isn’t your room that’s a prison, it’s yourself.
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My worst habit is my fear & my destructive rationalizing.
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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.
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I wish you’d find the exit out of my head.
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