Quotes from Sylvia Plath

La furia blocca l'esofago e sparge veleno, ma appena mi metto a scrivere svanisce, scorre via sotto forma di caratteri: scrittura come terapia?

digestible enough to be written out in short stories and poems, when I had a certain slickness that is enviable now

It Will Come. If I Work.

Yes, there is joy, fulfillment and companionship - but the loneliness of the soul in its appalling self-consciousness, is horrible and overpowering.

His big, pleasant, ugly black-clad wife, very broad-beamed, came out. Said she also milked goats; described frisky games of little kid with hand motions. Moon brightening through clouds as we left, clear-cut pine tree jagged against sky. Man happy, own world, out of earth; brother kept three cows on hill beyond railroad station. Left feeling good day; light yellow-green eyes of goats.

Then, grubbing over supper, with the badly begun poem like an albatross round the neck of the day, nothing else.

How best beauty's born of hardihood.

It's happening,' I thought. 'It's happening. If I just lie here and do nothing it will happen.

Mentally I have led a vegetable existence this summer.

turned and grinned at the littlest, with big brown eyes and peeling nose, pink and brown patches of skin, tow head, husky voice; he catapulted back into a bank of dry seaweed on the afterdeck and the other little boys laughed; big, bright awake eyes, dancing, merry; curious, and shy too; patched faded overalls; lean and brown and agile; pokes and fisticuffs. Mice and squirrel and cocker spaniel faces.

I am a wound walking out of hospital. I am a wound that they are letting go

The wet dawn inks are doing their blue dissolve. On their blotter of fog the trees Seem a botanical drawing. Memories growing, ring on ring, A series of weddings. Knowing neither abortions nor bitchery, Truer than women, They seed so effortlessly! Tasting the winds, that are footless, Waist-deep in history. Full of wings, otherworldliness. In this, they are Ledas. O mother of leaves and sweetness Who are these pietas? The shadows of ringdoves chanting, but chasing nothing.

The feeling one must get up earlier and earlier to get ahead of the day, which by one o'clock is determined.

Bir yerlerde, biri, beni az?c?k da olsa anl?yor mu, az?c?k da olsa seviyor mu? Bütün çaresizliÄŸimle, ideallerimle, her ÅŸeyimle -hayat? seviyorum. Ama bu çok zor ve öÄŸreneceÄŸim daha çok, çok ÅŸey var. Galiba zaman zaman deliriyorum.

Woman is but an engine of ecstacy, a mimic of the earth from the ends of her curled hair to her red-lacquered nails

It influenced my life that I did not find content immediately and easily - - and now I am I because of that.

Pray to yourself for the guts to make the summer work. One sale: that would help. Work for that.

new green honeydew melon: not as good as yesterday (probably, by freak of fortune, the best most delectable melon in the world), wild cold honey-flavored melon-flesh; creamy texture, refreshing, sweet the way sunlight would taste, coming through the clear glassy green bulk of waves.

I want to be important.By being different.And all these girls are the same.

I am your opus, I am your valuable, The pure gold baby

There is no reason for the sudden terror, the feeling of condemnation, except that circumstances all mirror the inner doubt, the inner fear.

And heart's frosty discipline Exact as a snowflake. But here–a burgeoning Unruly enough to pitch her five queenly wits Into vulgar motley– A treason not to be borne. Let idiots Reel giddy in bedlam spring: She withdrew neatly. And round her house she set Such a barricade of barb and check Against mutinous weather As no mere insurgent man could hope to break With curse, fist, threat Or love, either. – Spinster

smiling that smile which puts a benevolent lacquer on the shuddering fear of strangers' gazes

I wish I knew what to do with my life, what to do with my heart…