Quotes from Sylvia Plath

If they substituted the word "Lust" for "Love" in the popular songs it would come nearer the truth. –

The tongues of hell are dull.

In Chicago, people would take me for what I was.

My body is a pebble to them, they tend it as water Tends to the pebbles it must run over, smoothing them gently. They bring me numbness in their bright needles, they bring me sleep. Now I have lost myself I am sick of baggage— My patent leather overnight case like a black pillbox, My husband and child smiling out of the family photo; Their smiles catch onto my skin, little smiling hooks.

Cîte zile-oi mai avea, o s? zbor încoace È™i încolo între lucruri care se exclud reciproc.

Nobody watched me before, now I am watched. The tulips turn to me, and the window behind me Where once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins, And I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow Between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips, And I have no face, I have wanted to efface myself. The vivid tulips eat my oxygen.

Un soare imperturbabil È™i alb str?lucea în vârful cerului. Îmi venea s? m? È™lefuiesc de la el pân? când deveneam sfînt? È™i esenÈ›ial? c? lama unui cuÈ›it.

I am not ready for anything to happen. I should have murdered this, that murders me.

I don't believe in baptism or the waters of Jordan or anything like that, but i guess i feel about a hot bath the way those religious people feel about holy water

Between Sylvia and me there existed as between my own mother and me - a sort of psychic osmosis which, at times, was very wonderful and comforting; at other times an unwelcome invasion of privacy (words from Aurelia Plath from the Introduction)

There must be quite a few things a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them.

And I knew that in spite of all the roses and kisses and restaurant dinners a man showered on a woman before he married her, what he secretly wanted was for her to flatten out underneath his feet like Mrs. Willard's kitchen mat.

He was always saying how his mother said, "What a man wants is a mate and what a woman wants is infinite security,' and, 'What a man is is an arrow into the future and a what a woman is is the place the arrow shoots off from," until it made me tired.

I am incapable of more knowledge.

I would rather have anything wrong with my body than something wrong with my head, but the idea seemed so involved and wearisome that I didn't say anything.

I don't see what women see in other women," I told Doctor Nolan in my interview that noon. "What does a woman see in a woman that she can't see in a man?" Doctor Nolan paused. Then she said, "Tenderness." That shut me up. "I

Oriunde m-aÈ™ fi alfat (...) aÈ™ fi stat sub acelaÈ™i clopot de sticl?, fierbând în propriul meu aer st?tut.

felt very still and very empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.

De parc? dulcea?a vindec?rii era ceva ce se putea sorbi prin simpla apropiere.

I'd discovered, after a lot of extreme apprehension about what spoons to use, that if you do something incorrect at table with certain arrogance, as if you knew perfectly well you were doing it properly, you can get away with it and nobody will think you are bad-mannered or poorly brought up. They will think you are original and very witty.

Then I decided I would spend the summer writing a novel. That would fix a lot of people. […] A feeling of tenderness filled my heart. My heroine would be myself, only in disguise.

The idea of being electrocuted makes me sick, and that's all there was to read about in the papers--goggle-eyed headlines staring up at me on every street corner and at the fusty, peanut-smelling mouth of every subway. It had nothing to do with me, but I couldn't help wondering what it would be like, being bummed alive all along your nerves.

After nineteen years of running after good marks and prizes and grants of one sort and another, I was letting up, slowing down, dropping clean out of the race.

Write about the cow, Mrs. Spaulding's heavy eyelids, the smell of vanilla flavoring in a brown bottle. That's where the magic mountains begin.