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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.

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
Important
People
Group
Begin
Groups
Novel
Idea
Ideas
Might

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A million years of evolution, Eric said bitterly, and what are we? Animals.
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I need the reality of other people, work, to fulfill myself. Must never become a mere mother and housewife.
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If I was going to fall, I would hang on to my small comforts, at least, for as long as I possibly could.
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This seemed a dreary and wasted life for a girl with fifteen years of straight A's, but I knew that's what marriage was like, because cook and clean and wash was just what Buddy Willard's mother did from morning till night, and she was the wife of a university professor and had been a private school teacher herself.
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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!
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If there's anything I look down on, it's a man in a blue outfit.
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We stayed at home to write, to consolidate our outstretched selves.
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Tomorrow is another day toward death.
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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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There I went again, building up a glamorous picture of a man who would love me passionately the minute he met me, and all out of a few prosy nothings.
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All the heat and fear had purged itself. I felt surprisingly at peace. The bell jar hung suspended a few feet above my head. I was open to the circulating air.
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The slime of all my yesterdays rots in the hollow of my skull.
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I lean to you, numb as a fossil. Tell me I'm here.
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I know the bottom, she says. I know it with my great tap root: It is what you fear. I do not fear it: I have been there.
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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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I've eaten a bag of Green apples. Boarded the train, there's no getting off
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I love life. But it is hard and I have so much, so very much to learn.
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I collected men with interesting names. I already knew a Socrates. He was tall and ugly and intellectual and the son of some big Greek movie producer in Hollywood, but also a Catholic, which ruined it for both of us.
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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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Piece by piece, I fed my wardrobe to the night wind, and flutteringly, like a loved one’s ashes, the gray scraps were ferried off, to settle here, there, exactly where I would never know, in the dark heart of New York.
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