Sylvia Plath Quotes

This is newness: every little tawdryObstacle glass-wrapped and peculiar,Glinting and clinking in a saint's falsetto. Only youDon't know what to make of the sudden slippiness,The blind, white, awful, i...

There is a certain clinical satisfaction in seeing just how bad things can get.

Then I thought, No, I broke it myself. I broke it on purpose to pay myself back for being such a heel.

The woman is perfected.Her deadBody wears the smile of accomplishment,The illusion of a Greek necessityFlows in the scrolls of her toga,Her bareFeet seem to be saying:We have come so far, it is over.E...

I feel occasionally my skull will crack, fatigue is continuous - I only go from less exhausted to more exhausted & back again.

The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence.

The sight of all the food stacked in those kitchens made me dizzy. It's not that we hadn't enough to eat at home, it's just that my grandmother always cooked economy joints and economy meat loafs and...

Stars open among the lilies.Are you not blinded by such expressionless sirens?This is the silence of astounded souls.

Not being perfect hurts.

I have been holding a dialogue with myself and girding myself to stand fast without running.

My life is a discipline, a prison: I live for my own work, without which I am nothing.

I have never found anybody who could stand to accept the daily demonstrative love I feel in me, and give back as good as I give.

Let me not be weak and tell others how bleeding I am internally; how day by day it drips, and gathers, and congeals.

I hurl my heart to halt his pace.

It seemed silly to wash one day when I would only have to wash again the next.It made me tired just to think of it.

It is awful to want to go away and to want to go nowhere.

And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.

I want to taste and glory in each day, and never be afraid to experience pain; and never shut myself up in a numb core of nonfeeling, or stop questioning and criticizing life and take the easy way out...

…* to know a lot of people I love pieces of, and to want to synthesize those pieces in me somehow, be it by painting or writing. * to know that millions of others are unhappy and that life is a gentle...

I fancied you'd return the way you said,But I grow old and I forget your name. --From the poem "Mad Girl's Love Song