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It is best to meet in a cul-de-sac, A palace of velvet With windows of mirrors. There one is safe, There are no family photographs, No rings through the nose, no cries.

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
Meet
Photographs
Safe
Nose
Family
Noses
Best
Rings
Palace
Mirrors
Velvet
Photograph
Cries
Cry
Palaces
Window
Windows

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I am solitary as grass. What is it I miss? Shall I ever find it, whatever it is?
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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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Ironically, Henry James' biography comforts me & I long to make known to him his posthumous reputation he wrote, in pain, gave all his life (which is more than I could think of doing I have Ted, will have children but few friends) & the critics insulted & mocked him, readers didn't read him.
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So I kiss him, and there is the great dark sea ahead.
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What I want back is what I was Before the bed, before the knife, Before the brooch-pin and the salve Fixed me in this parenthesis Horses fluent in the wind, A place, a time gone out of mind.
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I've eaten a bag of Green apples. Boarded the train, there's no getting off
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As a poet I would say everything should be able to come into a poem but I can't put toothbrushes in a poem. I really can't.
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Go out and do something. It isn’t your room that’s a prison, it’s yourself.
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There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them.
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..I fancied you'd return the way you said, But I grow old and I forget your name. (I think I made you up inside my head.) I should have loved a thunderbird instead At least when spring comes they roar back again. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.)
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But life is long. And it is the long run that balances the short flare of interest and passion.
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But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defenseless that I couldn't do it.
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There is a certain clinical satisfaction in seeing just how bad things can get.
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