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I felt like a racehorse in a world without racetracks.
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
Racehorse
Racehorses
Felt
Without
Like
World
More quotes by Sylvia Plath
There is nothing like puking with somebody to make you into old friends.
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The woman is perfected. Her dead Body wears the smile of accomplishment.
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I've eaten a bag of Green apples. Boarded the train, there's no getting off
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So I kiss him, and there is the great dark sea ahead.
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How frail the human heart must be - a mirrored pool of thought.
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I felt dull and flat and full of shattered visions.
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There is more than one good way to drown.
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I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.)
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God, how I ricochet between certainties and doubts.
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I suppose if I gave myself the chance I could be an alcoholic.
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I decided I would put off the novel until I had gone to Europe and had a lover, and that I would never learn a word of shorthand. If I never learned shorthand I would never have to use it.
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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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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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Perhaps you considered yourself an oracle, Mouthpiece of the dead, or of some god or other. Thirty years now I have labored To dredge the silt from your throat. I am none the wiser.
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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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A dispassionate white sun shone at the summit of the sky. I wanted to hone myself on it till I grew saintly and thin and essential as the blade of a knife.
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Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams.
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Winter is for women The woman still at her knitting, At the cradle of Spanish walnut, Her body a bulb in the cold and too dumb to think.
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I couldn’t see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.
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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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