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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!

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
Thinking
Optical
Nerves
Worthwhile
Perceive
Fool
Trying
Think

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I do not fear it: I have been there.
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I feel that very strongly: having been an academic, having been tempted by the invitation to stay on to become a Ph.D., a professor, and all that, one side of me certainly does respect all disciplines, as long as they don't ossify.
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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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I think the coming of spring, the stars overhead, the first snowfall and so on are gifts for a child, a young poet.
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I had always imagined myself hitching up on to my elbows on the delivery table after it was all over - dead white, of course, with no makeup and from the awful ordeal, but smiling and radiant, with my hair down to my waist, and reaching out for my first little squirmy child and saying its name, whatever it was.
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The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.
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If only I knew what I wanted I could try to see about getting it.
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I felt the mask crumple, the great poisonous store of corrosive ashes begin to spew out of my mouth.
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Why honey, don't you want to get dressed? My mother took care never to tell me to do anything. She would only reason with me sweetly, like one intelligent, mature person with another. It's almost three in the afternoon. I'm writing a novel, I said. I haven't got time to change into this and change into that.
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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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I have taken a pill to kill The thin Papery feeling.
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A black-sharded lady keeps me in a parrot cage.
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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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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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I felt dull and flat and full of shattered visions.
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I am I-I am powerful, but to what extent? I am I.
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Doing all the little tricky things it takes to grow up, step by step, into an anxious and unsettling world.
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