Sylvia Plath

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The words of Sylvia Plath.
This blog is not to reiterate every word spoken by Plath but a place for her words that mean the most to me. I am sure that others will find significance in these words.

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1 year ago on March 31, 2012 at 02:40pm

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Only, when I do poems, it eats up the whole day in a slow lust which I can’t resist.

Sylvia Plath

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1 year ago on March 30, 2012 at 03:23pm

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#plath

via soul-frosts

1 year ago on March 30, 2012 at 03:17pm

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Always, I grab it, the writing, hold it to me, defend, defend, against the flux, the sameness of faces.

Sylvia Plath

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1 year ago on March 30, 2012 at 01:41pm

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endure, endure, and the syllables harden like stoic white sheets struck with rigor mortis on the clothesline of winter.

Sylvia Plath -Letter (1955)

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1 year ago on November 06, 2011 at 01:46pm

18 notes

I am afraid. I am not solid, but hollow. I feel behind my eyes a numb, paralyzed cavern, a pit of hell, a mimicking nothingness. I never thought. I never wrote, I never suffered. I want to kill myself, to escape from responsibility, to draw back abjectly into the womb. I do not know who I am, where I am going…

Sylvia Plath

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1 year ago on October 02, 2011 at 01:32am

83 notes

Sylvia Plath -Smith graduation 1955

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1 year ago on October 01, 2011 at 07:14pm

4 notes

Life is loneliness, despite all the opiates, despite the false grinning faces we all wear. And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter —they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long. Yes, there is joy, fulfillment and companionship —but the loneliness of the soul in its appalling self-consciousness is horrible and overpowering.

Sylvia Plath -letter

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1 year ago on October 01, 2011 at 07:10pm

42 notes

It was as if what I wanted to kill wasn’t in that skin or the thin blue pulse that jumped under my thumb, but somewhere else, deeper, more secret, a whole lot harder to get at.

Sylvia Plath -The Bell Jar

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1 year ago on September 30, 2011 at 11:33pm

30 notes

I saw the days of the year stretching ahead like a series of bright, white boxes, and separating one box from another was sleep, like a black shade. Only for me, the long perspective of shades that set off one box from the next had suddenly snapped up, and I could see day after day after day glaring ahead of me like a white, broad, infinitely desolate avenue.

Sylvia Plath -The Bell Jar

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1 year ago on September 30, 2011 at 11:30pm

16 notes

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