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Sylvia Plath Quotes - Page 15

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

Love set you going like a fat gold watch. The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry Took its place among the elements.

Love set you going like a fat gold watch. The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry Took its place among the elements.

Gold, Watches, Elements

'Morning Song' (1965)

I want to kill myself, to escape from responsiblity, to crawl abjectly back into the womb.

Want, Womb

She looks like a woman who has found it ridiculous to commit herself to a single emotional stance in anything, but must always ride high heavy irony.

Emotional, Looks, Ridiculous

Sylvia Plath (2000). “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath, 1950-1962”, Anchor

This seemed a dreary and wasted life for a girl with fifteen years of straight A's, but I knew that's what marriage was like, because cook and clean and wash was just what Buddy Willard's mother did from morning till night, and she was the wife of a university professor and had been a private school teacher herself.

Marriage, Girl, Mother

Sylvia Plath (2016). “The Bell Jar”, p.45, Hamilton Books

I drink sherry and wine by myself because I like it and I get the sensuous feeling of indulgence...luxury, bliss, erotic-tinged.

Wine, Luxury, Erotic

I am so hungry for a big smashing creative burgeoning burdened love.

Inspirational, Creative, Hungry

Sylvia Plath (2013). “The Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.131, Anchor

I, love, I am the pure acetylene virgin attended by roses.

Rose, Virgins, Pure

One night she hid the pink cotton scarf from her raincoat in the pillowcase when the nurse came around to lock up her drawers and closets for the night. In the dark she had made a loop and tried to pull it tight around her throat. But always just as the air stopped coming and she felt the rushing grow louder in her ears, her hands would slacken and let go, and she would lie there panting for breath, cursing the dumb instinct in her body that fought to go on living

Letting Go, Suicide, Lying

I never feel so much myself as when I'm in a hot bath.

Feminism, Hot, Baths

Sylvia Plath (2016). “The Bell Jar”, p.13, Hamilton Books

What is my life for and what am I going to do with it? I don't know and I'm afraid.

Knows

Sylvia Plath (2007). “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.43, Anchor

I have the one person I could ever love in this world. Now I must work to be a person worthy of that.

World, This World, Worthy

Sylvia Plath (2000). “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath, 1950-1962”, Anchor

Not being perfect hurts.

Hurt, Perfect, Not Being Perfect

Sylvia Plath (2013). “The Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.178, Anchor

Talking about my fears to others feeds it.

Fear, Talking

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

Sunday-the doctor's paradise! Doctors at country clubs, doctors at the seaside, doctors with mistresses, doctors with wives, doctors in church, doctors in yachts, doctors everywhere resolutely being people, not doctors.

Country, Sunday, Doctors

Sylvia Plath (2016). “The Bell Jar”, p.120, Hamilton Books

I am terrified by this dark thing That sleeps in me; All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity. Clouds pass and disperse. Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables? Is it for such I agitate my heart? I am incapable of more knowledge. What is this, this face So murderous in its strangle of branches? - Its snaky acids kiss. It petrifies the will. These are the isolate, slow faults That kill, that kill, that kill.

Heart, Sleep, Dark

Sylvia Plath (2010). “Ariel: The Restored Edition”, p.35, Faber & Faber

I hate handing over money to people for doing what I could just as easily do myself, it makes me nervous.

Hate, People, Nervous

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

I suppose I'll always be over-vulnerable, slightly paranoid.

Chaos, Vulnerable, Paranoid

Sylvia Plath (2011). “The Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.287, Faber & Faber

I saw the days of the year stretching ahead like a series of bright, white boxes, and separating one box from another was sleep, like a black shade. Only for me, the long perspective of shades that set off one box from the next day had suddenly snapped up, and I could see day after day after day glaring ahead of me like a white, broad, infinitely desolate avenue.

Sleep, Years, Next Day

Sylvia Plath (2008). “The Bell Jar”, p.95, Faber & Faber

The box is only temporary.

Boxes, Temporary

Sylvia Plath “Poemas”, Editora Iluminuras Ltda

The thought that I might kill myself formed in my mind coolly as a tree or a flower.

Flower, Tree, Mind

Sylvia Plath (2016). “The Bell Jar”, p.52, Hamilton Books

I think the coming of spring, the stars overhead, the first snowfall and so on are gifts for a child, a young poet.

Stars, Children, Spring

Source: www.english.illinois.edu

I am terrified by this dark thing That sleeps in me; All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.

Fear, Sleep, Dark

Sylvia Plath (2010). “Ariel: The Restored Edition”, p.35, Faber & Faber

I do not love; I do not love anybody except myself. That is a rather shocking thing to admit.

Selfless Love, Shocking Things, Shocking

Sylvia Plath (2007). “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.98, Anchor

Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated, arranged and selected. I am a victim of it then, not a master.

World, Sickness, Victim

Sylvia Plath (2007). “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.516, Anchor

Some things are hard to write about. After something happens to you, you go to write it down, and either you over dramatize it, or underplay it, exaggerate the wrong parts or ignore the important ones. At any rate, you never write it quite the way you want to.

Inspirational, Writing, Important

Sylvia Plath (2007). “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.10, Anchor

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