Sylvia Plath Quotes
Sylvia Plath Quote of the day
Perhaps some day I'll crawl back home, beaten, defeated. But not as long as I can make stories out of my heartbreak, beauty out of sorrow.
My mother said the cure for thinking too much about yourself was helping somebody who was worse off than you.
Writing, then, was a substitute for myself: if you don't love me, love my writing & love me for my writing. It is also much more: a way of ordering and reordering the chaos of experience.
I buried my head under the darkness of the pillow and pretended it was night. I couldn't see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.
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
The pity is not that there is a myth of Sylvia Plath but that the myth is not simply that of an enormously gifted poet whose death came carelessly, by mistake, and too soon.
I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full.
I wished I hadn’t majored in women filling their pockets with stones and sticking their heads into ovens. Maybe tomorrow the pinhole would widen and I would want to be a marine biologist.
We have conversations most nights, Sylvia Plath and me. On these cold wintry nights with our coffee mugs in hand, we talk for hours and hours, Sylvia Plath and me!
Sylvia Plath and I met a long time ago. A really long time ago. Was it a summer day? No! It was a wintry November morning!
Not easy to state the change you made.If I'm alive now, I was dead, Though, like a stone, unbothered by it.
