Sylvia Plath Quotes

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

For the few little successes I may seem to have, there are acres of misgivings and self-doubt.

I felt the mask crumple, the great poisonous store of corrosive ashes begin to spew out of my mouth.

If I was going to fall, I would hang on to my small comforts, at least, for as long as I possibly could.

I hurl my heart to halt his pace.

I used to pray to recover you.

And if you have no past or future which, after all, is all that the present is made of, why then you may as well dispose of the empty shell of present and commit suicide.

In spite of everything, I still have my good old sense of humor.

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

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

Bright beads of red are rising through the ink, Hearts-blood bubbles smearing out into the black stream

I may never be happy, but tonight I am content.

Talking about my fears to others feeds it.

A psychiatrist is the God of our age. But they cost money.

I had been alone more than I could have been had I gone by myself.

If only I can find him... the man who will be intelligent, yet physically magnetic and personable. If I can offer that combination, why shouldn't I expect it in a man?

I’ll never speak to God again.

Then I thought, "No, I broke it myself. I broke it on purpose to pay myself back for being such a heel.

I think writers are the most narcissistic people. Well, I musn't say this, I like many of them, a great many of my friends are writers.

The silence between us was so profound I thought part of it must be my fault.

What I didn't say was that each time I picked up a German dictionary or a German book, the very sight of those dense, black, barbed-wire letters made my mind shut like a clam.

Everything people did seemed so silly, because they only died in the end.

We must be moving, working, making dreams to run toward; the poverty of life without dreams is too horrible to imagine.

The frost makes a flower, the dew makes a star.

I want to force myself again and again to leave the warmth and security of static situations and move into the world of growth and suffering where the real books are people's minds and souls.

I do not fear it: I have been there.

Very depressed today. Unable to write a thing. Menacing gods. I feel outcast on a cold star, unable to feel anything but an awful helpless numbness.

You've only got so long to live.

I collect men with interesting names.

I keep wanting to crawl back into the womb.

Joy:show joy & enjoy: then others will be joyful.

I am still raw. I say I may be back. You know what lies are for. Even in your Zen heaven we shan't meet.

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

I need not to be more with others, but to be more & more deeply, richly alone. Recreating worlds.

I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life.

If there's anything I look down on, it's a man in a blue outfit.

How many different deaths I can die?

Dancing is the normal prelude to intercourse.

There is no life higher than the grasstops

Even amidst fierce flames the golden lotus can be planted.

I have been holding a dialogue with myself and girding myself to stand fast without running.

A million years of evolution, Eric said bitterly, and what are we? Animals.

And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.

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

That afternoon my mother had brought me the roses. "Save them for my funeral," I'd said.

What is so real as the cry of a child?

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.

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

If I have a dry spell ... I wait and live harder, eyes, ears, and heart open, and when the productive time comes, it is that much richer.

I've eaten a bag of Green apples. Boarded the train, there's no getting off