Tag: Sylvia Plath
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‘I am I, with all the individuality of an earthworm.’ – Sylvia Plath, The Journals of Sylvia Plath 1950-1962
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‘I was nauseated at the sight of bobby pins. I would not touch them. Once, on the day I was going home from the hospital after having my tonsils out, a woman in my ward asked me to carry some bobby pins to the lady in the next bed. Revolted, I held out a stiff…
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‘Antoine St. Exupery once mourned the loss of a man and the secret treasures that he held inside him. I loved Exupery; I will read him again, and he will talk to me, not being dead, or gone. Is that life after death – mind living on paper and flesh living in offspring? Maybe. I…
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‘I am not content, because my lot is limiting, as are all others. People specialise; people become devoted to an idea; people “find themselves.” But the very content that comes from finding yourself is overshadowed by the knowledge that by doing so you are admitting you are not only a grotesque, but a special kind…
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‘to learn that you might-have-been more of an “artist” than you are if you had been born into a family of wealthy intellectuals. + to learn that you can never learn anything valid for truth, only momentary, transitory sayings that apply to you in your moment, your locality, and your present state of mind. +…
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‘Today is the first of August. It is hot, steamy and wet. It is raining. I am tempted to write a poem. But I remember what it said on one rejection slip: After a heavy rainfall, poems titled RAIN pour in from across the nation.’ – Sylvia Plath, The Journals of Sylvia Plath 1950-1962
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‘I may never be happy, but tonight I am content. Nothing more than an empty house, the warm hazy weariness from a day spent setting strawberry runners in the sun, a glass of cool sweet milk, and a shallow dish of blueberries bathed in cream. Now I know how people can live without books, without…
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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, extract from Lady Lazurus
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I fancied you’d return the way you said, But I grow old and I forget your name. (I think I made you up inside my head.) – Sylvia Plath, extract from Mad Girl’s Love Song
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‘Yes, God, I want to talk to everybody as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night.’ – Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
Roseena Veronika Hussain 