Compared with me, a tree is immortal. Sylvia Plath More Quotes by Sylvia Plath More Quotes From Sylvia Plath The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt. Sylvia Plath beautiful inspirational life I can't think logically about who I am or where I am going. I have been very ecstatic, horribly depressed, shocked, elated, enlightened, and enervated. Sylvia Plath enlightened who-i-am thinking Clouds pass and disperse. Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables? Is it for such I agitate my heart? Sylvia Plath faces clouds heart I have stitched life into me like a rare organ Sylvia Plath organs live-by The moon, also, is merciless: she would drag me Sylvia Plath radiance light moon I wanted to crawl in between those black lines of print, the way you crawl through a fence, and go to sleep under that beautiful big green fig-tree. Sylvia Plath sleep tree beautiful O love, how did you get here? Sylvia Plath It is a terrible thing to be so open: it is as if my heart put on a face and walked into the world. Sylvia Plath faces heart world There is something demoralizing about watching two people get more and more crazy about each other, especially when you are the only extra person in the room. Sylvia Plath crazy two people Let me not be weak and tell others how bleeding I am internally; how day by day it drips, and gathers, and congeals. Sylvia Plath bleeding let-me weak The constant struggle in mature life, I think, is to accept the necessity of tragedy and conflict, and not to try to escape to some falsely simple solution which does not include these more somber complexities. Sylvia Plath simple struggle thinking Ash, ash —- You poke and stir. Flesh, bone, there is nothing there—— A cake of soap, A wedding ring, A gold filling. Herr God, Herr Lucifer Beware Beware. Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air. Sylvia Plath cake hair men It was like the first time i saw a cadaver. For weeks afterward the cadavers head, or what was left of it - floated up behind my eggs and bacon at breakfast and in the face of Buddy Willard, who was responsible for my seeing it in the first place, and pretty soon I felt as though I were carrying that cadavers head around with me on a string, like some black, noseless balloon stinking of vinegar. Sylvia Plath cadavers black eggs I think my poems immediately come out of the sensuous and emotional experiences I have, but I must say I cannot sympathise with these cries from the heart that are informed by nothing except a needle or a knife, or whatever it is. Sylvia Plath emotional heart thinking I feel, am mad as any writer must in one way be; why not make it real? I am too close to the bourgeois society of suburbia: too close to people I know I must sever my self from them, or be a part of their world: this half and half compromise is intolerable. Sylvia Plath real self people ... stop trying to get me to write about 'decent courageous people' -- read the Ladies' Home Journal for those! ... I believe in going through and facing the worst, not hiding from it. Sylvia Plath home writing believe I felt overstuffed and dull and disappointed, the way I always do the day after Christmas. Sylvia Plath christmas dull way Here I am, a bundle of past recollections and future dreams, knotted up in a reasonably attractive bundle of flesh. I remember what this flesh has gone through; I dream of what it may go through. Sylvia Plath here-i-am dream past Pretty soon, the only doubt in my mind was the precise time and method of committing suicide. The only alternative I could see was an eternity of hell for the rest of my life in a mental hospital, and I was going to use my last ounce of free choice and choose a quick clean ending. Sylvia Plath choices suicide doubt What is my life for and what am I going to do with it? I don't know and I'm afraid. I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. Sylvia Plath want book people
