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Sylvia Plath Quotes - Page 18

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

I feel self-repressed again. The old fall disease. Where is my willpower? The idea of a life gets in the way of my life...I dream too much, work too little.

I feel self-repressed again. The old fall disease. Where is my willpower? The idea of a life gets in the way of my life...I dream too much, work too little.

Dream, Fall, Self

I am sending back the key that let me into bluebeard's study; because he would make love to me I am sending back the key; in his eye's darkroom I can see my X-rayed heart, dissected body: I am sending back the key that let me into bluebeard s study.

Heart, Eye, Keys

Sylvia Plath (2015). “Collected Poems”, p.268, Faber & Faber

I must be lean & write & make worlds beside this to live in.

Writing, World

Sylvia Plath (2013). “The Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.157, Anchor

I want, I think, to be omniscient. I think I would like to call myself "the girl who wanted to be God." Yet if I were not in this body where would I be-perhaps I am destined to be classified and qualified. But, oh, I cry out against it.

Girl, Thinking, Body

Sylvia Plath, Aurelia Schober Plath (1975). “Letters home: correspondence, 1950-1963”, HarperCollins Publishers

I’d discovered, after a lot of extreme apprehension about what spoons to use, that if you do something incorrect at table with a 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.

Witty, Food, Thinking

Sylvia Plath (2016). “The Bell Jar”, p.16, Hamilton Books

I wanted to do everything once and for all and be through with it.

Wanted

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

To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is a bad dream.

Dream, Baby, Cadavers

The Bell Jar ch. 20 (1963)

I have done, this year, what I said I would: overcome my fear of facing a blank page day after day, acknowledging myself, in my deepest emotions, a writer, come what may.

Years, Overcoming, Done

Sylvia Plath (2013). “The Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.307, Anchor

I collected men with interesting names. I already knew a Socrates. He was tall and ugly and intellectual and the son of some big Greek movie producer in Hollywood, but also a Catholic, which ruined it for both of us.

Son, Men, Names

Sylvia Plath (2016). “The Bell Jar”, p.28, Hamilton Books

I thought if only I had a keen, shapely bone structure to my face or could discuss politics shrewdly or was a famous writer Constantin might find me interesting enough to sleep with. And then I wondered if as soon as he came to like me he would sink into ordinariness, and if as soon as he came to love me I would find fault, the way I did with Buddy Willard and the boys before him.

Sleep, Boys, Interesting

Sylvia Plath (2016). “The Bell Jar”, p.44, Hamilton Books

I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly, as the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands. I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions.

Wall, Lying, Light

Sylvia Plath (2010). “Ariel”, p.14, Faber & Faber

Beached under the spumy blooms, we lie Sea-sick and fever-dry.

Lying, Sea, Sick

Sylvia Plath (2015). “Collected Poems”, p.135, Faber & Faber

I have taken a pill to kill The thin Papery feeling.

Taken, Feelings, Pills

Sylvia Plath “Poemas”, Editora Iluminuras Ltda

Now I know what loneliness is, I think. Momentary loneliness, anyway. It comes from a vague core of the self - - like a disease of the blood, dispersed throughout the body so that one cannot locate the matrix, the spot of contagion.

Fear, Loneliness, Thinking

Sylvia Plath (2007). “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.29, Anchor

It won't happen yet, Ellen mused, mashing cooked carrots for Jill's lunch. Breakups seldom do. It will unfold slowly, one little tell-tale symptom after another like some awful, hellish flower.

Sad, Breakup, Flower

The moon, too, abases her subjects, but in the daytime she is ridiculous. Your dissatisfactions, on the other hand, arrive through the mailslot with loving regularity, white and blank, expansive as carbon monoxide. No day is safe from news of you, walking about in Africa maybe, but thinking of me.

Broken Heart, Moon, Thinking

Sylvia Plath (2010). “Ariel”, p.45, Faber & Faber

A fierce brief fusion which dreamers call real, and realists, an illusion; an insight like the flight of birds.

Real, Bird, Dreamer

Sylvia Plath, “Love Is A Parallax”

In a rabbit-fear I may hurl myself under the wheels of the car because the lights terrify me, and under the dark blind death of wheels I will be safe. I am very tired, very banal, very confused. I do not know who I am tonight. I wanted to walk until I dropped and not complete the inevitable circle of coming home.

Confused, Home, Tired

Sylvia Plath (2007). “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.184, Anchor

All the heat and fear had purged itself. I felt surprisingly at peace. The bell jar hung suspended a few feet above my head. I was open to the circulating air.

Feet, Air, Bells

Sylvia Plath (2016). “The Bell Jar”, p.111, Hamilton Books

A terrible depression yesterday. Visions of my life petering out into a kind of soft-brained stupor from lack of use.

Depression, Yesterday, Vision

Sylvia Plath (2013). “The Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.314, Anchor

The blood jet is poetry and there is no stopping it.

Reality, Blood, Stopping

The journey over the bridge had unnerved me. The river water passed me by like an untouched drink. I suspected that even if my mother and brother had not been there I would have made no move to jump.

Mother, Suicide, Brother

Sylvia Plath (2008). “The Bell Jar”, p.138, Faber & Faber

But I am I now; and so many other millions are so irretrievably their own special variety of 'I' that I can hardly bear to think of it. I: how firm a letter; how reassuring the three strokes: one vertical, proud and assertive, and then the two short horizontal lines in quick, smug succession. The pen scratching on the paper…I…I…I…I…I…I.

Thinking, Two, Special

Sylvia Plath (2007). “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.34, Anchor

I am afraid of getting married. Spare me from cooking three meals a dayspare me from the relentless cage of routine and rote.

Cooking, Meals, Routine

1949 Diary entry,13 Nov. Collected in Aurelia Schober Plath (ed) Letters Home by Sylvia Plath,'Diary Supplement' (1949).

In this particular tub, two knees jut up like icebergs, while minute brown hairs rise on arms and legs in a fringe of kelp; green soap navigates the tidal slosh of seas breaking on legendary beaches; in faith we shall board our imagined ship and wildly sail among sacred islands of the mad till death shatters the fabulous stars and makes us real.

Beach, Stars, Real

Sylvia Plath (2015). “Collected Poems”, p.4, Faber & Faber

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