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Sylvia Plath Quotes - Page 24

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

Perhaps, perhaps this would be the one to pull me out of my plunge.

Perhaps, perhaps this would be the one to pull me out of my plunge.

Would Be, Plunge

Sylvia Plath (2011). “The Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.35, Faber & Faber

Every woman adores a Fascist, The boot in the face, the brute Brute heart of a brute like you.

Heart, Boots, Faces

"Daddy" l. 48 (1963)

I am I-I am powerful, but to what extent? I am I.

Powerful

Sylvia Plath (2011). “Letters Home”, p.67, Faber & Faber

Now I am silent, hate Up to my neck, Thick, thick. I do not speak.

Hate, Necks, Speak

Sylvia Plath (2017). “Winter Trees”, p.26, Faber & Faber

The first time I saw a fingerbowl was at the home of my benefactress. [...] The water had a few cherry blossoms in it, and I thought it must be some clear sort of Japanese after-dinner soup and ate every bit of it, including the crisp little blossoms.

Home, Water, Soup

Sylvia Plath (2016). “The Bell Jar”, p.23, Hamilton Books

Mother of otherness, Eat me.

Mother, Otherness

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

God, it was good to let go, let the tight mask fall off, and the bewildered, chaotic fragments pour out. It was the purge, the catharsis.

Letting Go, Fall, Catharsis

Sylvia Plath (2007). “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.152, Anchor

My wanting to write books annihilates the original root impulse that would have me bravely and blunderingly working on them.

Book, Writing, Roots

Sylvia Plath (2007). “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.523, Anchor

My life is a discipline, a prison: I live for my own work, without which I am nothing.

Discipline, Prison, Life Is

Sylvia Plath (2013). “The Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.204, Anchor

Antoine St. Exupery once mourned the loss of a man and the secret treasures that he held inside him. I loved Exupery; I will read him again, and he will talk to me, not being dead, or gone. Is that life after death — mind living on paper and flesh living in offspring? Maybe. I do not know.

Loss, Men, Secret

Sylvia Plath (2007). “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.45, Anchor

And I identify too closely with my reading, with my writing.

Reading, Writing

Sylvia Plath (2007). “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.199, Anchor

I didn't know what I was doing in New York.

New York, Junior Year, Bell Jar

The Bell Jar ch. 1 (1963)

Cold glass, how you insert yourself Between myself and myself. I scratch like a cat. The blood that runs is dark fruit- An effect, a cosmetic. You smile. No, it is not fatal.

Running, Cat, Dark

Sylvia Plath (2010). “Ariel: The Restored Edition”, p.49, Faber & Faber

I think I am mad sometimes.

Thinking, Mad, Sometimes

Your body Hurts me as the world hurts God

Hurt, World, Body

Sylvia Plath “Poemas”, Editora Iluminuras Ltda

I think I may well be a Jew.

Thinking, May, Jew

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

The reason I haven't been writing in this book for so long is partly that I haven't had one decent coherent thought to put down.

Book, Writing, Long

Sylvia Plath (2007). “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.33, Anchor

I used to pray to recover you.

Praying, Used

Sylvia Plath (2010). “Ariel: The Restored Edition”, p.78, Faber & Faber

I hadn't, at the last moment, felt like washing off the two diagonal lines of dried blood that marked my cheeks. They seemed touching, and rather spectacular, and I thought I would carry them around with me, like the relic of a dead lover, till they wore off of their own accord.

Blood, Two, Touching

Sylvia Plath (2016). “The Bell Jar”, p.60, Hamilton Books

Do I like to write? Why? About what? Will I give up and say, "Living and feeding a man's insatiable guts and begetting children occupies my whole life. Don't have time to write"?

Children, Giving Up, Writing

Sylvia Plath (2013). “The Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.33, Anchor

Let's face it: I'm scared, scared and frozen. First, I guess, I'm afraid for myself...the old primitive urge for survival. It's getting so I live every moment with terrible intensity.

Survival, Frozen, Faces

Sylvia Plath (2013). “The Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.14, Anchor

If Doctor Nolan asked me for the matches, I would say that I'd thought they were made of candy and had eaten them.

Doctors, Made, Candy

sylvia plath (1971). “the bell jar”

Over coffee and orange juice the embryonic suicide brightens visibly.

Suicide, Coffee, Orange Juice

Death may whiten in sun or out of it.

May, Sun

Sylvia Plath (2011). “The Colossus: and Other Poems”, p.77, Vintage

I get into a rut, unable to yank my mind out of it.

Mind, Ruts

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

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