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Sylvia Plath Quotes - Page 14

All Quotes Age Art Bones Chaos Character Children College Cooking Darkness Depression Desire Discipline Doubt Earth Emptiness Fate Fear Feelings Feminism Fighting Giving Gold Happiness Hate Heart Hell Home Hurt Illness Inspirational Joy Kissing Life Loneliness Love Love Life Lying Madness Mask Mental Illness Moon Morning Pain Past Rain Reading Rejection Responsibility Running Sad Sadness Sickness Silence Silver Skins Sleep Soul Spring Summer Understanding Vision Waiting Wall Water Winter Writing

There is a charge For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge For the hearing of my heart - It really goes. And there is a charge, a very large charge, For a word or a touch Or a bit of blood Or a piece of my hair or

There is a charge For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge For the hearing of my heart - It really goes. And there is a charge, a very large charge, For a word or a touch Or a bit of blood Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.

Heart, Hair, Blood

Sylvia Plath (2010). “Ariel: The Restored Edition”, p.25, Faber & Faber

There is a certain unique and strange delight about walking down an empty street alone.

Unique, Delight, Strange

Sylvia Plath (2007). “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.54, Anchor

I felt very low. I had been unmasked only that morning by Jay Cee herself, and I felt now that all the uncomfortable suspicions I had about myself were coming true. 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 race.

Running, Morning, Race

Sylvia Plath (2016). “The Bell Jar”, p.17, Hamilton Books

I feel terribly vulnerable and 'not-myself' when I'm not writing.

Writing, Vulnerable, Feels

Sylvia Plath (2011). “Letters Home”, p.496, Faber & Faber

And I sit here without identity: faceless. My head aches.

Identity, Ache, Faceless

Sylvia Plath (2013). “The Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.17, Anchor

Life was not to be sitting in hot amorphic leisure in my backyard idly writing or not writing, as the spirit moved me. It was, instead, running madly, in a crowded schedule, in a squirrel cage of busy people. Working, living, dancing, dreaming, talking, kissing- singing, laughing, learning.

Running, Dream, Writing

Sylvia Plath (2007). “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.118, Anchor

I thought the most beautiful thing in the world must be shadow.

Beautiful, Shadow, World

Sylvia Plath (2016). “The Bell Jar”, p.75, Hamilton Books

There is something demoralizing about watching two people get more and more crazy about each other, especially when you are the only extra person in the room. It's like watching Paris from an express caboose heading in the opposite direction--every second the city gets smaller and smaller, only you feel it's really you getting smaller and smaller and lonelier and lonelier, rushing away from all those lights and excitement at about a million miles an hour.

Crazy, Light, Opposites

Sylvia Plath (2016). “The Bell Jar”, p.11, Hamilton Books

I knew chemistry would be worse, because I'd seen a big card of the ninety-odd elements hung up in the chemistry lab, and all the perfectly good words like gold and silver and cobalt and aluminum were shortened to ugly abbreviations with different decimal numbers after them.

Numbers, Perfectly Good, Gold

because wherever I sat—on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok—I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.

Depression, Glasses, Air

Sylvia Plath (2016). “The Bell Jar”, p.94, Hamilton Books

I have this demon who wants me to run away screaming if I am going to be flawed, fallible. It wants me to think I'm so good I must be perfect. Or nothing. I am, on the contrary, something: a being who gets tired, has shyness to fight, has more trouble than most facing people easily.

Running, Tired, Fighting

Sylvia Plath (2007). “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.619, Anchor

Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children.

Children, Perfection, Terrible

Sylvia Plath (2010). “Ariel”, p.63, Faber & Faber

There is more than one good way to drown.

Way, Good Way

Sylvia Plath (2015). “Collected Poems”, p.320, Faber & Faber

Sometimes I feel so stupid and dull and uncreative that I am amazed when people tell me differently.

Stupid, People, Dull

Sylvia Plath (2011). “Letters Home”, p.161, Faber & Faber

I began to see why woman-haters could make such fools of women. Woman-haters were like gods: invulnerable and chock full of power. They descended, and then they disappeared. You could never catch one.

Inspirational, Women, Fool

Sylvia Plath (2016). “The Bell Jar”, p.57, Hamilton Books

Apparently, the most difficult feat for a Cambridge male is to accept a woman not merely as feeling, not merely as thinking, but as managing a complex, vital interweaving of both.

Fake People, Women, Independent

"Sylvia Plath: Method and Madness". Book by Edward Butscher (p. 181), 2003.

You are a dream; I hope I never meet you.

Dream

Sylvia Plath (2013). “The Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.16, Anchor

Do we always grind through the present, doomed to throw a gold haze of fond retrospect over the past?

Inspirational, Past, Gold

Sylvia Plath (2013). “The Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.195, Anchor

A little thing, like children putting flowers in my hair, can fill up the widening cracks in my self-assurance like soothing lanolin.

Children, Flower, Hair

Sylvia Plath (2007). “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.17, Anchor

Is to throw together events from my own life, fictionalizing to add color—it’s a pot boiler really, but I think it will show how isolated a person feels when he is suffering a breakdown . . . I’ve tried to picture my world and the people in it as seen through the distorting lens of a bell jar.

Thinking, Color, People

sylvia plath (1971). “the bell jar”

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

Inspirational, Song, Lust

Sylvia Plath (2013). “The Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.16, Anchor

With me, the present is forever, and forever is always shifting, flowing, melting. This second is life. And when it is gone it is dead. But you can't start over with each new second. You have to judge by what is dead. It's like quicksand... hopeless from the start.

Starting Over, Judging, Forever

Sylvia Plath (2007). “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.9, Anchor

There was a beautiful time.

Beautiful, Bell Jar

Sylvia Plath (2016). “The Bell Jar”, p.29, Hamilton Books

I deserve that, don't I, some sort of blazing love that I can live with.

Blazing, I Can, Deserve

Sylvia Plath (2007). “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.209, Anchor

I don't know how long I kept at it... I felt reasonably safe, streched out on the floor, and lay quite still. It didn't seem to be summer any more

Summer, Long, Safe

Sylvia Plath (2008). “The Bell Jar”, p.34, Faber & Faber

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