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Hour by hour, day by day, life becomes possible.

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
Becomes
Possible
Hours
Life
Hour

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because wherever I sat—on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok—I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.
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Is anyone anywhere happy?
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As I lay on my back in bed staring up at the blank, white ceiling the stillness seemed to grow bigger and bigger until I felt my eardrums would burst with it.
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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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The woman is perfected. Her dead Body wears the smile of accomplishment.
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I am disabused of all faith, and see too clearly.
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I keep wanting to crawl back into the womb.
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I wanted to be where nobody I knew could ever come.
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Over coffee and orange juice the embryonic suicide brightens visibly.
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You cannot regard your own life with objective curiosity all the time.
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Love is a shadow. How you lie and cry after it
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But writing poems and letters doesn't seem to do much good.
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How we need another soul to cling to.
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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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God, if ever I have come close to wanting to commit suicide, it is now, with the groggy sleepless blood dragging through my veins, and the air thick and gray with rain ... I fell into bed again this morning, begging for sleep, withdrawing into the dark, warm, fetid escape from action, from responsibility. No good.
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I may have made a straight A in physics, but I was panic-struck. Physics made me sick the whole time I learned it.
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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 must get my soul back from you I am killing my flesh without it.
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Life has been some combination of fairy-tale coincidence and joie de vivre and shocks of beauty together with some hurtful self-questioning.
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You have to be able to make a real creative life for Yourself, before you can expect anyone Else to provide one ready-made for you.
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