Tomorrow is another day toward death.
SYLVIA PLATHLove is a shadow. How you lie and cry after it
More Sylvia Plath Quotes
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Only I wasn’t steering anything, not even myself.
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I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my eyes and all is born again.
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Intoxicated with madness, I’m in love with my sadness.
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How we need another soul to cling to, another body to keep us warm. To rest and trust; to give your soul in confidence: I need this, I need someone to pour myself into.
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I am terrified by this dark thing that sleeps in me.
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There is nothing like puking with somebody to make you into old friends.
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Compared with me, a tree is immortal.
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I want to write because I have the urge to excel in one medium of translation and expression of life.
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I want so obviously, so desperately to be loved, and to be capable of love.
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And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.
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I smile, now, thinking: we all like to think we are important enough to need psychiatrists.
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Love life day by day, color by color, touch by touch.
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Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children.
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Everything in life is writable.
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I find myself absolutely fulfilled when I have written a poem.
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Life has been some combination of fairy-tale coincidence and joie de vivre and shocks of beauty together with some hurtful self-questioning.
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I feel terribly vulnerable and ‘not-myself’ when I’m not writing.
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One thing, I try to be honest. And what is revealed is often rather hideously unflattering.
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Please, I want so badly for the good things to happen.
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When you give someone your whole heart and he doesn’t want it, you cannot take it back. It’s gone forever.
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I talk to God but the sky is empty.
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I am dead to them, even though I once flowered.
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After all, we are nothing more or less than we choose to reveal.
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It’s a hell of a responsibility to be yourself. It’s much easier to be somebody else or nobody at all.
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I am what I feel and think and do.
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Love is a shadow. How you lie and cry after it
SYLVIA PLATH