You cannot regard your own life with objective curiosity all the time… ― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath. (Anchor; Unabridged edition October 17, 2000) Advertisements
The darkness is leaking from the cracks. I cannot contain it. I cannot contain my life. — Sylvia Plath, from “Three Women,” The Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath. Edited by Ted Hughes (Harper Perennial Modern Classics; Reprint edition, September 2, 2008) Originally published 1981.
There is this white wall, above which the sky creates itself- Infinite, green, utterly untouchable. Angels swim in it, and the stars, in indifference also. They are my medium. — Sylvia Plath, from “Apprehensions,” The Bell Jar. (Harper Perennial Modern Classics June 11, 2013) Originally published January 14th 1963.
Better that every fiber crack and fury make head, blood drenching vivid couch, carpet, floor and the snake-figured almanac vouching you are a million green counties from here, than to sit mute, twitching so under prickling stars, with stare, with curse blackening the time goodbyes were said, trains let go, and I, great magnanimous fool,… Continue reading Sylvia Plath
I should have loved a thunderbird instead; At least when spring comes they roar back again. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.) ― Sylvia Plath, from “Mad Girl’s Love Song.” Generally included in the biographical note appended to The Bell Jar. (Harper… Continue reading Sylvia Plath
And I slept on like a bent finger. The first thing I saw was sheer air And the locked drops rising in a dew Limpid as spirits. Many stones lay Dense and expressionless round about. I didn’t know what to make of it. I shone, mica-scaled, and unfolded To pour myself out like a fluid… Continue reading Sylvia Plath
Dying Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I’ve a call. — Sylvia Plath, from “Lady Lazarus,” Collected Poems (HarperCollins Publishers Inc, 1992)