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Let's face it: I'm scared, scared and frozen. First, I guess, I'm afraid for myself...the old primitive urge for survival. It's getting so I live every moment with terrible intensity.

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
Faces
Intensity
Moment
Survival
Moments
Scared
Live
Guess
Firsts
Afraid
Urge
First
Terrible
Frozen
Every
Face
Urges
Getting
Primitive

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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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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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And I sit here without identity: faceless. My head aches.
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…beating time along the edge of thought.
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Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams.
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We know a thing by its opposite corollary hot by having experienced cold good by having decided what is bad love by hate.
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No, I won't try to escape myself by losing myself in artificial chatter 'Did you have a nice vacation?' 'Oh, yes, and you?' I'll stay here and try to pin that loneliness down.
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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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Now I am silent, hate Up to my neck, Thick, thick. I do not speak.
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I had imagined a kind, ugly, intuitive man looking up and say, 'Ah!' in an encouraging way, as if he could see something I couldn't, and then I would find words to tell him how I was so scared, as if I were being stuffed farther and farther into a black, airless sack with no way out.
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What did my arms do before they held you?
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If I didn’t think, I’d be much happier.
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After all, we are nothing more or less than we choose to reveal.
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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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Yes, I was infatuated with you: I am still. No one has ever heightened such a keen capacity of physical sensation in me. I cut you out because I couldn't stand being a passing fancy. Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams. And you weren't having any of those.
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I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty. How free it is, you have no idea how free—— The peacefulness is so big it dazes you, And it asks nothing, a name tag, a few trinkets. It is what the dead close on, finally I imagine them Shutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet.
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It seemed silly to wash one day when I would only have to wash again the next. It made me tired just to think of it.
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