I suppose if I gave myself the chance I could be an alcoholic. Sylvia Plath More Quotes by Sylvia Plath More Quotes From Sylvia Plath Don't let the wicked city get you down. Sylvia Plath bell-jar wicked cities I'm about fifty years behind as far as my preferences go and I must say that the poets who excite me most are the Americans. There are very few contemporary English poets that I admire. Sylvia Plath poet fifty years If only I knew what I wanted I could try to see about getting it. Sylvia Plath ifs wanted trying Dying Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. Sylvia Plath mad crazy art Cheers for spring; for life; for a growing soul. Sylvia Plath cheer soul spring So learn about life. Cut yourself a big slice with the silver server, a big slice of pie. Open your eyes. Let life happen. Sylvia Plath pie cutting eye I am too pure for you or anyone. Sylvia Plath being-a-woman feminism classic Oh what a poet I will flay myself into. Sylvia Plath poet We stayed at home to write, to consolidate our outstretched selves. Sylvia Plath home writing life I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery—air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, "This is what it is to be happy. Sylvia Plath nature air happiness People or stars Regard me sadly, I disappoint them. Sylvia Plath disappoint stars people …I hate myself for not being able to go downstairs naturally and seek comfort in numbers. I hate myself for having to sit here and be torn between I know not what within me. Sylvia Plath hate comfort numbers Nothing is real except the present, and already, I feel the weight of centuries smothering me. Some girl a hundred years ago once lived as I do. And she is dead. I am the present, but I know I, too, will pass. The high moment, the burning flash, come and are gone, continuous quicksand. And I don’t want to die. Sylvia Plath girl real years I didn’t want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn’t know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I’d cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full. Sylvia Plath eye taken depression I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo. Sylvia Plath numbness eye moving One thing, I try to be honest. And what is revealed is often rather hideously unflattering. Sylvia Plath being-honest honest trying I find that in a novel I can get more of life, perhaps not such intense life, but certainly more of life than in poetry. Sylvia Plath intense novel i-can The abstract kills, the concrete saves. Sylvia Plath concrete abstract I find myself absolutely fulfilled when I have written a poem, when I'm writing one. Having written one, then you fall away very rapidly from having been a poet to becoming a sort of poet in rest, which isn't the same thing at all. But I think the actual experience of writing a poem is a magnificent one. Sylvia Plath writing fall thinking It is awful to want to go away and to want to go nowhere. Sylvia Plath awful going-away want
